Clove and Cato--The Hunger Games
by musiciannsun
Summary: Clove and Cato-The Hunger Games. Based on THE HUNGER GAMES by Suzanne Collins.
1. Chapter 1

**Clove – Chapter 1**

When I peer into the Training Center, it's empty. Of course. It's reaping day. Everyone must be at their homes preparing for the annual event. My shoulders hunch at the thought of the reaping. Not that I'm afraid. But it is the disaster of my life. The dark cloud that looms over me wherever I go, and I never seem to be able to shake it off. Never. Not with my parents meddling over it literally every day.

I walk slowly back to my home where my parents are surely fussing over my brother and what he will be wearing to the reaping. Because he has a better chance. A better chance of winning the Hunger Games and bringing wealth and luxuries along with him. He is just bigger than I am. Bigger and heavier. And apparently that means he is stronger.

I kick a pebble off the road in anger. Of course. The moment I was born, small and scrawny, my parents immediately cast me aside from any obliging future. But I knew better. When I signed up for training, I took advantage of my small size and light weight. Focused on long-ranged weapons instead of melee ones. Placed speed above stealth. Did everything I could to prove that I was more than the helpless little girl from the Belfur household.

As I round the corner, I decide to go to Leven's house. She's not exactly a friend, we don't spend time gossiping. The thing is that she doesn't ignore me during training. And when magically we start talking more, one day at school she comes and sits by me during lunch. Soon we started talking during recess. Finding a subject to talk about is difficult, but she's nice. And she's a skilled fighter. And I have to admit she's rather pretty too. Dark auburn hair that shone like water. Sparkling eyes that seem to never stop changing colors. She is one of the rich ones, living in Lob while I lived in Forph. But we didn't care much about that. We just talk about fighting skills and train together. But today bring reaping day and all, I think we won't be able to get any of that done.

I knock on the door softly, and almost immediately it opens. And there is Leven, standing there looking all beautiful in a blue and white frock.

"Look at you," I say to her, "Even one of the District 1 slobs won't be able to beat you."

Leven blushes slightly, "Come in. Mother made cookies."

I walk in her home, which is nice. But I think everything is too much. Too grand. Too formal. And too elegant. Though Leven is neither of these. She is elegant, but not proud. Which I like.

"Clove, are you planning to ever look slightly more formal?" Leven asks me as we walk into the kitchen.

"No," I say. "But Cleve will surely make sure I do."

Leven smiles, "Of course." She studies my face, "That's good you know. Someone who cares."

I grimace. The subject usually doesn't come to our brothers. I never mentioned it, I never can be sure how Leven will react. Her grief. Her mother. The way her mother sometimes enters a zone where she sees things only she can see, and shouts terrible things I don't want to think of. How the death of her son affected her.

Of course Mrs. Robins is normal on good days. But before she was the news in the District. She helped all the poor ones in Gost. She told legends and stories to all the children in school. No one knew how she came to know them, but no one cared. Those times were wonderful, I would go out to the schoolyards with Cleve and we'd listen to Mrs. Robins tell her terrific stories. It was a time I could relax and forget my worries.

It all changed when Leven's older brother Lite got reaped in the Seventy-first Hunger Games. He was eighteen and was also a living legend in District 2. Tall, strong, athletic, almost the whole district thought he would win. And he almost did. So close. If only he beat the District 1 girl, he would be victor. But she won. Barely. I remember the bloody and brutal fight on television, I was only twelve. Lite fought with his spear, and the girl fought with a long sword. It was terrible, both received, you can call, deathly injuries. The girl was disarmed finally, but the effort to kill her was so hard on Lite he fell splat on the ground. And they struggled that way, Lite's spear laying unnoticed along the side, the girl's dagger somewhere in the undergrowth. The fight was uninvited, and horrible, both punched and kicked and bit and slapped, until the girl punched Lite's wound with such force he died immediately.

It was too much on Mrs. Robin. Leven did grief, but she held on to sanity. Mrs. Robin stopped telling her stories. She stayed home most. Leven took over most of Mrs. Robin's duties.

"Yes," I say quietly, "I can never be sure if he will be reaped."

"Or you," Leven says with a smile, and we sit down in the kitchen and eat some of Mrs. Robins' cookies. This must be one of her good days. To be up and baking cookies.

"We barely have a chance," I say, brushing the comment off. It's true, our district is full of people wanting to volunteer. Volunteer for wealth and fortune. But of course they are volunteering for a chance of death also. In the Hunger Games, if a girl or boy's name is reaped, another girl or boy of the same gender may step up and take his or her place. This was how it worked the first few years, but when the Training Center started filling up, the number of volunteers grew since many kids had the confidence they could win. So there is a process in which those who want to volunteer has their name put on a list, and they go through many tests, physical and verbal, and the committee in the Training Center chooses the strongest volunteer that signed up. There is a boy volunteer this year. But no girl. So both Leven and I has the chance of being reaped for the Seventy-fourth Hunger Games.

I won't volunteer. It's not worth it. And why would I want money? I'm doing quite fine now, thank you very much. And Leven will probably never volunteer either. She's a amazing fighter and attractive, good for sponsors, but I can't imagine Leven volunteering. It's not her thing. And if Mrs. Robins lost her only daughter, she will surely be driven to madness.

I stand up, "Well, I guess I should be leaving now. Get dressed up for the reaping."

"Sure," Leven says hollowly, "Wear something more formal."

I flash her a small smile and leave the room. Leven sure has brought a heavy subject up. She must still be grieving about her dead brother. I grimace slightly. What would it be like to lose Cleve?

When I reach home, there is commotion going on. I catch phrases from my mother as she scurries by not noticing me, something about a missing tie that matches his outfit. So my parents are fussing over Cleve. I spontaneously go to my room where I try to find something to wear other than other than shorts and a tank top. Maybe jeans. If I didn't grow out my last pair. And a t-shirt…or blouse? I scan my carelessly messed up drawers looking for something that I can wear to look presentable.

"You should clean up some, y'know." The voice is a surprise, and I nearly jump out of my skin.

My younger brother, Cleve, stands at the doorway of my bedroom looking all gorgeous in a elegant pair of dress pants and dress clothes. Even though he's two years younger than me, he's always seemed like a older brother. Maybe it his height. Or that he's always looking out to me. He's giving me a sympathetic look, and I avoid it as I always do.

"I have more things to do than clean up after myself," I say sweetly, standing up. I'm holding some sort of blue blouse that looks large enough, and I quickly change.

"You could do for some new clothes." Cleve says wistfully, as if wishing his clothes were as small as mine. "Though anything looks good with your pretty face."

I throw my tank top at him, "You wish." I say, "Your biggy oldy sister has so much time to fix up her pretty face?"

Cleve screws his eyebrows together, and matching his dark curly hair, it must drive people crazy. "I'm just trying to be the best little brother I can be."

"And you are" I conclude. However much I despise my parents for favoring Cleve, I can't deny that he is a wonderful brother. He knows, of course, how our parents favor him, and always tries to give the best to me. Which makes him better. My thirteen-year-old little brother who is taller and bigger and buffier than me.

I find myself in a some brown tight pants that seems to work. Quickly I scan myself on the broken mirror in the corner, and I look alright. Not pretty. Not ugly. Just plain.

"You should care more of your looks," Cleve continues, "What if you're to go to the Capitol?"

I snort, and lay down on my bed, "The odds are not in my favor. I've got only four entries this year."

"You never know," Cleve says mischievously, leaning against the doorpost, "You can never guess the odds."

"You're just glad you're safe," I retort, staring at the shabby ceiling.

His eyebrows raise, "No. I'm just worried."

Those words hit me so sharply I sneak a glance up at my brother's face. He is actually worrying.

"Don't worry. I'm fine." I pause, and echo Leven, "Nice to know that someone's thinking of me."

"There's always someone thinking of you, Clove," Cleve says seriously.

I laugh it off. No one cares about me. The little girl from the Belfur's. The skinny, tiny one. "Good thing you're safe," I say again, "No girl is volunteering this year."

Cleve frowns, "Mother and Father wants me to volunteer when I'm seventeen. They want me on the Seventy-eighth volunteer list. If I don't make it, I'm on the Seventy-ninth."

This is news. But I am not surprised, "What if you don't make it then?" I ask coolly.

Cleve shrugs, "Then Mother and Father will kill me their own way."

I give a small laugh, "What about me? Will I still be your pretty older sister?"

My brother smiles, "'Course. Where else would you be?"

"Say, dead. In the arena."

"No way," Cleve says, "If you're in the arena you win. No one else can throw knives the way you can."

"So why don't I volunteer?" I ask.

"'Cause it's not worth it." Cleve frowns. "Now stop asking questions. Maybe we should eat some before the reaping."

I agree and climb off my comfortable bed. I follow my brother downstairs, looking unimpressive compared to him. Our mother starts fussing, but Cleve brushes her away. That's when she sees me. She takes a long look at my outfit and says, "You look lovely, honey," and I reply with a sarcastic smile. Nothing I can say.

Halfway through our lunch, I realize I should brush my hair. And maybe style it somehow. I dismiss myself from lunch and head back to my bedroom, and comb my tangled, messy dark brown hair. Undo all the knots. Tie my hair up. After a moments hesitation I find a ribbon from the bottom of the drawers and tie it for highlights.

I look at my reflection in the mirror. A little better. At least she looks more like the rest of the people from Forph. Forph was the name of her section in town. Somewhat rich enough to not risk tesserae, but not exploding rich like those in Lob. And not poor like those in Gost. Still, most families in District 2 is able to scrape up a few coins and not have their children sign up for tesserae. But it's still a unfair system. The poorer having a larger chance being reaped for the Hunger Games. Reasonably, the rich should have more since they have the money to pay the Training Center for Hunger Game's training. But of course the Capitol wouldn't dream of such a thing to do. Those rich, snoggy, and stupid feathery citizens from the Capitol.

The Hunger Game rules are simple. First you need to be reaped, or you can volunteer. The reaping system is still unfair, when you're twelve, you have one entry; thirteen, two, and so on. But here's the catch. If you're poor and starving, which most people in District 2 aren't, you can sign up for tesserae in exchange for more entries in the reaping bowl. And a tessera is just a supply of grain and oil for one person, a single year. Of course you can sign up for tesserae as much as you want, but really, in District 2, no one's starving. I guess that's how we beat those in District 11 or 12.

When you're reaped, you go to the Capitol, go through interviews and then training, and finally enter the arena. And the rules in there are simple. Fight to the death. Last one standing is the victor.

I sit around on my bed until one o'clock, until Cleve comes up and tells me it's time to go. I follow him numbly, and again I think of what Leven said, "That's good you know. Someone who cares."

Yes, but he will be volunteering one year. And I might lose him. The way Leven lost Lite. Or the way at least one family in the district is mourning over their dead child. Maybe that will be me one year. Mourning over Cleve.

I shudder as I walk towards the square with Cleve and my mother. I don't know where my father is, but he will probably be there in case Cleve is reaped. But that is nearly impossible. Cleve has only two entries this year.

Today the square is decorated with banners and streamers and camera crew everywhere. It's supposed to be merry, but how can anything be merry if you know in the next hour someone who might be a friend may just be walking towards their death? If not yourself, of course.

People silently file in to sign up. Cleve is ahead of me, and I watch as the Peacekeeper pricks his finger and a bead of blood drips out. His pricked finger is then pushed on a paper, which has fibers that can tell who the blood belongs to.

"Cleve Belfur," the Peacekeeper says, nodding at Cleve, giving him the invitation to head on into the square. He looks back at me and gives me a small smile before heading off towards the other thirteen-year-olds.

After signing in, I scan the square for the other fifteen-year-olds. We are probably somewhere smack in the middle. I aimlessly walk around groups of children, but who cares? As long as I get to my section before 2 o'clock, everything will be fine. I look back, and Cleve is already standing in the thirteen-year-old section, talking to another boy. I think his name is Ceale, but that doesn't really matter. When I turn back, I see Leven in front of me in her beautiful reaping outfit.

"We should get going, you know," Leven says with a hint of a smile. Oh. I guess Leven was my friend all along. Someone who cares, the way Leven says it.

I follow her through the crowd, and it's obvious she's already been in the fifteen-year-old section. How thoughtful of her to come back to me. I should be more nice to her in the future, I think. But nice? What does that mean? It's just something else about the Hunger Games. They make everyone heartless and violent. Bloodthirsty. But I had to sign up for training. Absolutely. Or my wrath at home would be more unbearable than ever. I needed training, so if I'm reaped, I can win the games, and come back to District 2 proving that I'm not just that little girl. I'm a violent one. One that can become a victor. One that has no heart.

I scan the whole square. The area where the twelve through eighteen year olds stand is roped off. Around it is where family members will stand, some biting their nails, and some looking extremely grave. Mixed in along with the parents are onlookers, who either lost all they care about, or just doesn't have anyone to love. They take bets on who the two kids will be, namely the overly poor ones who had to sign up for tesserae. They bet on the ages, where they live, what their reaction will be. Most of these onlookers are greatly disliked by the rest of the district, but suddenly I wonder what life must be like to them. No one to love, and no one cares about them. I shudder and I feel Leven's hand on my shoulder giving me a light squeeze.

"Don't worry," she says softly, "It won't be you."

I fake a smile, "Yes, I know." And then I point at the temporary stage where the seats that are sitting start to fill up. Victors from the past seventy-three years. District 2 has a quite a number, and there are two rows, with only four chairs in the row up front. Where the mayor, our escort, and the two mentors will sit.

"Oh," Leven says, her voice barely a whisper, "It's Enobaria and Brutus this year"

"Huh," I say, "Hopefully Enobaria keeps her fangs in."

Enobaria is a huge one in District 2, she won the Sixty-second Hunger Game as a volunteer when she was seventeen. I don't remember any details, except during the final two, she ripped her opponent's throat open using her teeth. It was the kind of action that drove Capitol citizens wild. After her huge finale, Enobaria had her teeth cosmetically altered to end with a sharp point, and tipped with gold. Some of the more recent victors won under Enobaria's instructions. Maybe there will be another one this year.

As the clocks strike two, Mayor Burke, a strong woman whose husband died in an unknown event, steps onto the stage and reads the same story she's required to read every reaping. The history of Panem. The disasters. The result of Panem, a shining Capitol ringed by thirteen outlying districts. Then came the Dark Days, where each district had their own uprising against the Capitol. In the end, twelve were defeated, and the thirteenth obliterated. The Treaty of Treason gave peace, and that was where the Hunger Games were born. To remind us that the Dark Days must never be repeated. To show us how totally we are at the Capitol's mercy.

The Capitol's way of reminding us this is making the Hunger Games a sort of festival, where the winner is showered with gifts and the is given a life of ease back home. The Districts must chant their names, as if it was a wondrous thing, not the fact that twenty-three other kids are dead. The victor's district gets presents throughout the year, while the poorer districts such 11 and 12 are battling starvation. There's a rumor that people die from starvation over there. It makes my rusty life at District 2 seem like a safe haven.

"It is both a time for repentance and a time for thanks," says Mayor Burke, finishing the required speech.

Then she reads a list of the past victors of District 2. This takes quite a while, in the past seventy-three years there've been nineteen victors. Fifteen are still alive. As Mayor Burke reads the name of the victor in a rather dead voice, they stand a moment to be acknowledged by the crowd. We just stare numbly, and I bet most of the kids are praying that they won't be reaped.

Enobaria and Brutus are announced last, since they will be mentoring this year. Of course all the other victors will try to help, but Enobaria and Brutus will be the lifeline for the tributes in the arena this year.

Alessia Reeky, our escort for as long as I can remember, jumps to the podium as if it's the most fun thing ever, and says her part, "Happy Hunger Games! And may the odds ever be in your favor!" Her freakish green curls waddle along with her head, and her porcelain white skin with a butterfly tattoo stuck on her cheek makes me stare at her, her usual speech seeming to echo a few thousand miles away.

Finally it's time for the drawing. Alessia Reeky goes, "Ladies first!" and bounces on those ridiculously high shoes to the girls' glass ball. There are thousands of slips inside, and my name is written carefully on four of them. Alessia digs her hand deep in the ball, stirs a few times, and grabs a single slip of paper.

She hops back to the podium, and smooths out the paper. Right before she says the name, I feel Leven's hand around mine and I give her a squeeze.

I never predicted how soon I would have to let go.


	2. Chapter 2

**Cato – Chapter 2**

A little girl steps onto stage. I would have thought that she was twelve or thirteen, fourteen at the most if she hadn't come from the fifteen-year-old section. Wow. I'm going to have to kill her. That little girl.

Alessia Reeky asked for volunteers. You can practically hear the wind in the trees as no one steps forward to take her place.

"Wonderful!" gushes Alessia Reeky, "Round of applause for our girl tribute, Clove Belfur!"

There is a subtle applause from the audience, and Alessia gives a little squeal that I suppose is supposed to be from delight. How strange.

"Alright!" squeaks Alessia. "Now let's choose our boy tribute!"

As if she gets to choose. But this year everyone knows who the boy tribute is. Me. I will be volunteering. Everyone knows I will win the games and come back home with wealth and fortune.

I watch smugly as Alessia trots to the glass ball with the boy names at the left. She digs her hand in the glass ball and stirs the way she did with the girls, and goes back to the podium and reads the name. "Cleve Belfur."

Huh. He must be Clove's brother. And, what the heck, he looks so much bigger! But he came from the thirteen-year-old section. And part of his face looks familiar. Probably a friend of Ceale's. Right.

Cleve is on the stage and staring at Clove with an unreadable expression. He probably knows then. Knows that I will be volunteering in his place and will win the games. And that means his sister must die.

"Volunteers?" Alessia Reeky asks raising her eyebrows. She looks like she wanting to get off the stage. No, she can't. This is my moment. The moment I have been waiting my whole life.

"I volunteer!" I bellow in the most dangerous voice I could muster. The kids around me automatically make a path to the stage. I flash a smug smile and slowly begin to make my way onto stage. This is all live on TV. I must make an impression.

"Lovely!" says Alessia Reeky, "And your name is...?"

"Cato," I say as if it didn't matter. "Cato Dervig."

"Terrific! Round of applause for Cato Dervig, our boy tribute!" I have to say that the applause is much livelier. The kids have all passed their initial fright of becoming a tribute. They are safe for the year.

As the applause dies down, Alessia Reeky sits down on her chair looking please with herself. Mayor Burke stands and reads another required speech, the long, dull Treaty of Treason. And I'm to stand on stage with Clove on the other side the whole time. The whole time I wonder whether I'll be able to kill a little girl like her in the arena.

She's not little, I think as the mayor finishes her speech. She's fifteen. Stop softening up. This is the Hunger Games.

Now I'm to shake hands with her. She gives me a stare of deep loathing which I try to return, and squeezes my hand so hard I feel it's about to burst. The moment we let go I want to massage my hands, but I know that will not do with the fact I'm televised right now.

I glance again, and she smiling the tiniest bit with a daring look. I stare back at the crowd. I'm not even at the Capitol and I'm already being intimidated by this little girl. The confidence I built up year after year in training seems to melt slowly. This isn't good.

_Stop_, I tell myself, _That's her intention_. She hasn't accepted death. She's fighting for the win. Well that's not good. I am going to will this year. She can't. I am. I am coming back to District 2. I told everyone I was going to win. I volunteered. She was just reaped. She's so little.

The moment the anthem ends we're both marched into the Justice Building with armed Peacekeepers along our side. So much security I don't get. I mean we're just going into the room where we say goodbye to our loved ones, what trouble would anyone do? Sometimes the Peacekeepers just stump us. Maybe the other districts have some problem with marching into a room, that's why they have to keep security.

I find myself in a classically elegant room where goodbyes are said. There's velvet and silk everywhere, and I spend a few minutes just touching and admiring the luxuries. Maybe this is what Victor's Village is like. Maybe my future home will be like this.

My parents and my brother Ceale enter the room. We don't embrace much or anything, we just stand stiffly. My parents didn't want me to volunteer. They didn't think it was worth it. But I did in the end, and here I am. But I'll show them. Show them that I can win these Games. Become a victor.

"Cato," my mother says. I turn and see that there's tears streaming silently down her face, and I feel a bit of remorse for forcing her into watching me in the arena. But I must stay strong. No puffy eyes and red nose. The cameras will not like that, and that will reduce the amount of sponsors I have.

"Don't worry," I say, "I'll come back. I will."

"It's too late," my father says, his eyes a million miles away from where we are, "You have to win. You have to come back."

"Yes," I say. Don't these people get it? I am coming back. That's why I volunteered. Who would volunteer for an unpretty death in the arena? Maybe some of the poorer district will volunteer for the food I guess, but starvation that extreme doesn't exist in District 2.

My mother breaks down. My father seems to come back to reality and brings my mother out of the room. They leave me with my brother.

"My friend got reaped you know." Ceale says. It takes a few moments to understand what he means. He must mean Cleve. I'm not really close to my brother, I spend most times at the Training Center.

"Oh," I say. I don't get where this is going. Is he thanking me for saving his friend? Or what?

"His sister was reaped," Ceale continues. Oh. Now I know where it's going.

"Oh no," I say almost sarcastically.

Ceale studies me and looks like he's about to say something else, but shakes his head. We say nothing for the next minute or so. Then the Peacekeeper is at the door, signaling the time is up. I give Ceale half a hug, and then he's gone.

The door opens and I see Royal walk in. He's seventeen, he was on the volunteer list this year but I beat him. He signing up again, and I'm sure he'll make it. Strong, fit, and somewhat attractive, he has a chance of winning the Games.

"Here," he says and shoves something into my hands. Oh right. District tokens. The Gamemakers allows each tribute to bring one item in the arena. To remind them of home. But district tokens are the last thing I'm thinking of.

I glance down. It's a copper colored necklace. The thread is remarkably thin, and there is a pendant at the bottom. It's a preserve of a bug. Preserves are rare in District 2. Royal isn't that rich. I wonder where in the world he came about this wonderful thing.

"It's nice." I say.

"Yes. To remind you of home," Royal says, and I wonder how a bug is supposed to remind me of home. Then I notice it. The antenna, abdomen, legs…it forms a two.

"Oh," I say softly, "That's wonderful."

Royal flashes a smile and grabs my arm, "Win for me, Cato." he says, "Be my role-model."

I return the smile, and Royal stands up. He looks uneasy, "You know, Clove is my neighbor."

Uh-oh. Clove again. "But I want you to win," Royal finishes. He gives me a playful punch and then he's out the room. I silently slip the necklace into my pocket.

My trainer, Vetky, enters the room. She seems to have this urgent tone, and immediately starts talking.

"Team up with District 1 and maybe 4 if their districts look like their worth teaming up with. Find a spear. Or a sword. Just something you're good at fighting with. Discuss an angle with Brutus. I would suggest violent and maybe impatient, that would be intimidating and may get you sponsors. Don't object your stylist. Try to impress the Gamemakers by showing them you can use a wide variety of weapons. Camp near Cornucopia where all the food and weapons and resources are. Make the first move when it's up to the final two."

Vetky said this all really fast, and I'm not sure if I caught three things. But this is all reviewed information, so I just nod.

"Good. Win, Cato," Vetky says, pats my back, and leaves the room. She has a sad expression on. Right. She's been in these rooms many times. And most of the time it's the last time she ever sees her students. They die. But that won't be happening in this case. I will win, and come home.

I am still absorbed in my thoughts, I don't see him come into the room. But he does, and he's immediately on top of me and staring down.

What's he doing here? Come to thank me for taking his place? Everyone knew that. Reassure me? Give me some present?

But I'm not right. "My sister," Cleve says.

Ouch. These weeks will be difficult for him. He has to watch his sister fight to the death in an arena with me.

"I'm sorry," I say as sympathetically I could, but seriously, why does everyone seem to have some relationship with this Clove girl? How am I supposed to fight her with so many people pestering me? Wonderful, Cleve is the third person to mention her now. Now I can just pray Brutus isn't her uncle or something.

"No," Cleve says, trying to keep cool, "Promise me you'll protect her. Promise me!" He's losing it now. Getting desperate.

I realize that Cleve won't be leaving the room until I promise him. Promise I'll protect her. But what does that mean for me? I'm supposed to come home this year. Not her.

"I promise." I murmur, barely audible. Great. Now I have to hope she gets herself killed a way I can't help.

Cleve narrows his eyes, "A promise is a promise," he ruminates quietly, "You gave your word. Don't think of bending it. Got it? You gave your word you'll protect her."

I nod. This thirteen-year-old is bossing me around. Telling me what to do. Amazing. I'm feeling so much like a victor.

Cleve glares at me and exits the room. Wow. That was rough game. But now I have to protect that girl. Because I promised.

We ride to the train station by car. I'm forced to sit by that Clove girl, and I think she was glaring at me the whole way. There's something about her deathly glare, it always seems to burn. I've got a problem here.

There are cameras everywhere on the train station. I try to appear bored, and I hope that will pull more sponsors. That I'm not scared of going to a arena and fighting to the death.

Clove Belfur, on the other hand, flashes sweet smiles across the train station, and with her small figure, it fits her profile perfectly. Small and sweet. Now I'm suddenly afraid that she'll be able to pull more sponsors than I can. But there's still time. We're not even at the Capitol yet. Surely my size and burliness will work better than tiny and sweet.

After the cameras soaked in the images of us, we're immediately herded onto the train. This is the first time I've ever been on a train; and the speed takes my breath away. It's going about 250 miles per hour, so we will be reaching the Capitol in about a day.

As I head into what will be my room today, it seems the Capitol puts the tributes in complete luxury then throws them into an arena where they have to fight one another. I have a whole large compartment to myself, which includes a bedroom, a dresser with many outfits I don't really care about, and a private bathroom with so many buttons I might spend my whole hour before supper playing with them.

I take a shower, exploring the buttons one by one, and by the end of my hour I'm smelling rather terrible. There's banana, mint, mango, chocolate, and other flavors I can't place all over my body. I don't have time to rewash though, Alessia Reeky told me to be down for dinner in a hour. The last thing I want is a bad impression on Brutus before he even started coaching me.

Alessia Reeky collects me for dinner. She's about three heads shorter than me, even with those six inch high heels on, and I feel stupid following her down the train and towards the dining compartment. Luckily, we are the first ones to be at the table.

While Alessia Reeky goes to fetch Clove, I examine the room. There is a lot of glass on the table, and that poses the problem that I'll have to watch where I put my hands. The wall in polished wood, and I can't help it but rub the palm of my hand over it. Everything back at District 2 is stone. Cold stone.

Enobaria and Brutus enters the room. I hope their noses aren't working their best. Brutus gives a huge sigh and slumps himself onto the chair next to mine. Enobaria stiffly walks to the seat across from me. "Don't mind him. Mentoring isn't his favorite task."

Brutus sits back and snorts, "Who would want to mentor two kids and watch them die? I would rather go back to the arena myself. Seriously, why can't these kids just wing it out? Makes my job easier."

Enobaria rolls her eyes and turns to me, "He's just upset no one's won under his guidance," she pauses and looks me from bottom to top, "Maybe you can change that. Looks fit."

Brutus crosses his legs and makes a retching noise from his throat, and glares at Enobaria. I'm afraid a fight is going to break out, but luckily, that precise moment Alessia Reeky comes into the room with Clove behind her. She's still in her reaping oufit, but her hair is down. Alessia Reeky looks as freaky as usual, and they take their seat at the table, and Alessia starts babbling about some dumb Capitol issue. Enobaria and Brutus stays silent, and Clove won't look up anywhere except the table.

The teachers at school always tells us to be thankful that we're from a richer district, where everyone has enough food to fill their bellies. Now I realize how Capitol citizens feast every day. The food comes in courses. Thick carrot soup, green salad, lamb chops and mashed potatoes, cheese and fruit, and a chocolate cake. I try not to overstuff myself throughout the courses, but they're so wonderfully good I can't help it. Alessia Reeky spends so much time talking she doesn't even seem to touch the food. Oh well. She from the Capitol, she gets delicacies every day.

Clove, in contrary, is controlling the amount of food she eats. I'm surprised, if I were that teeny, I would try to stuff a few pounds before the games. But she's always glancing at Enobaria and Brutus.

Oh. Already trying to win the mentors favor. That doesn't really matter though, I guess

After supper, we go into another compartment to watch the recaps of the reapings in all the districts throughout the day. There's twelve, and the Capitol tries to organize the reapings so the districts are able to watch them live at their homes. The times change every year, and no one watches reapings during the day when there's recaps at night, so I guess the Capitol citizens are eager to know the twenty-four tributes who will be fighting each other in the arena. What a life.

Starting with District 1, the reapings are shown. I pay attention to this one and four, since they may be my allies in the arena. District 1 provides a blonde girl who seems fit enough, and a boy who looks about the same. No huge competition yet. Four has a brown haired girl and a small curly haired boy. Both of them seem alright, but they don't seem fit enough to win the games. The other reapings flash by, the whole time I look for desirable allies. Some still stick in my mind though, like the redhead girl from five, a boy who seems fit from six, a crippled boy from ten, and a really small twelve-year-old from eleven. But eleven also provides a giant, over six feet tall, and he's immediately on my ally list. Twelve is somewhat strange, another twelve-year-old is called, but her sister seems to go through some fit and volunteers. She's small, but better than the little twelve-year-old. When her escort calls for applause, the whole district presses three fingers to their mouth and holds it up to her. A commentator says something about District 12 always being a bit backwards, and something else about their local customs being charming. I think the first comment makes more sense.

The only live victor of District 12 comes on stage and falls off, and the commentators groan comically. Brutus gives an unexpected laugh. "Haymitch. He's always a great laugh."

Enobaria gives him a look, but I'm watching the District 12 boy come up. He's stocky and blond. May be a desirable ally.

The anthem sounds again, and the program ends. Alessia Reeky gives a small squeal, "Well, there doesn't seem to be too much competition," she says cheerfully. Suddenly she seems to remember something, "Oh no!" she shriekes, "I need my notes! For our talk!" With that she hops out the room in her freaky shoes.

"What notes?" I ask before I can stop myself.

"Grown-up talk." Brutus says gruffly, "But she's right. Not much too much competition this year."

Enobaria leans forward on the couch, "Maybe. Listen, Cato and Clove, we need to decide whether you want to be coached separately. We need to start immediately."

I glance at Clove, who's looking apprehensively at Enobaria. "I think together should be fine," I say, "We going to be allies in the arena, right?" It's custom for the tributes from one, two, and four to be allies. But this year we may just add eleven.

Clove shifts her foot, "I guess we can be coached together. I think we should continue tradition."

Brutus leans back and says in a bored voice, "Amazing. Now should we get started?" he inquires Enobaria.

She frowns at Clove, glancing at me occasionally. After about half a minute of this she asks, "How old are you two?"

"Eighteen," I immediately say.

Clove wrinkles her nose, "I'm fifteen."

"You're small for a fifteen-year-old," Enobaria says calmly.

Clove purses her lips tightly, "I know."

Brutus laughs, "No worries Enobaria. We can make something out of her."

"Of course," she says, "We need an angle for you. One that makes you vicious and dangerous despite your size. That should appeal the Capitol."

"Be little," Brutus suggests, "Like the cheery wavy girl at the train station."

Clove stares daggers at him, and Enobaria sighs, "No wonder no one has won under your mentoring. You're hopeless," she then turns to Clove, "I like the cheery thing at the train station, but I think we need a more Career like angle. Something to intimidate the rest of the field." The strong alliance between districts one, two, and four is called Career Tributes, or just Careers.

Enobaria suddenly grins, "You have a nice glare. Truly Career like."

Brutus howls and Clove suddenly smiles. Not the sweet smile from the train station, but a little happy smile. A real smile.

As if by cue, Alessia Reeky hops back into the room with a notepad in her hands, "Six-thirty! It's meeting time! Clove and Cato, you two can go have some sleep now. We're going to be at the Capitol tomorrow!" she gives a giggle as if it's the best thing in the world, "Or you can stay and get acquainted with each other! Best know each other before the alliance in the games!"

The accent really makes me want to laugh right out loud, her enthusiasm and squeaky voice that makes her sound like she's squealing all the time. How does Brutus and Enobaria survive this escort every year? She just makes me want to break down laughing.

Enobaria gives a sigh and stands up, "We'll continue tomorrow," she says. She shoves Brutus roughly, "Come on. We need to improve your mentoring skills."

Brutus sits solidly and squints at her. The last thing I want is a fight between the mentors. But he just grins, "Fine. Improve me." He stands up and goes towards the door. But not before giving a wink towards Clove's and my direction.

As the door slams with a bang, Alessia Reeky sighs, "He needs to learn how to be more encouraging. It might affect the tributes emotions." I try hard not to laugh. Alessia doesn't even seem to realize that the two tributes that might have their "feelings" affected. Those two tributes that must fight to the death. One must die. And, it is Clove.

Enobaria doesn't respond to Alessia's obvious remark, but leaves the room with a sigh. Alessia Reeky, who always seems to not understand the two mentors actions, tilts her head and gives Clove and I a wide grin, "Well, this is the first year Enobaria's worked with Brutus. I think he'll be a handful. Maybe you can help him!" she adds with a squeal. She stands up, "Well, it's about time to go to bed. Must be ready to tomorrow! It's going to be a big big day!" Alessia flashes a smile and hops off the couch. She's out the room before I can wonder what in the world the Capitol escort is thinking of. Her thoughts about exactly how excited are we supposed to be? Excited about standing in front of the Capitol audience as if we're glad we're fighting each other? It's pathetic.

Now with only Clove and I in the room, it's oddly quiet. She's fiddling with her shirt, her eyes fixated on a spot three feet left the television. She suddenly looks up, "We getting acquainted?"

"No," I say, "We don't need to."

"No," she repeats and grins sarcastically, "So much about you. So much about them," she sighs, "I wish I were home."

This is the first time Clove's spoken normally to me. At least, I think. "I heard the food's prime." I say.

"Who cares about the food?" Clove says gloomily, "Enobaria won't even look at me."

"She did," I object.

There's a small pause. Then Clove gives me a look so full of loathing it seems she's transformed into another person. But still something about it seems familiar. "Of course. To you, when they were just praising you."

"No, I mean she did look at you." I protest.

"Sure," she replies.

"Look, I know Enobaria was a bit tough. But she's the lifeline in your games." Not that she has a chance, I think. She's far too small. "Size isn't the answer to everything," I continue, "It's not your fault you're tiny."

"Tiny" exploded it. That the very small Clove Belfur has some sort of memory associated with it. How her glare pulled my memory. That I have spoken to her before she was reaped. One look at her face tells me that she has grasped the memory also.


	3. Chapter 3

**Clove – Chapter 3**

As he says the word, I understand how his face, features, always seemed to drum something in me. Some remembrance that was lingering up in the surface, but I was unable to catch it. And when Cato said tiny I took such a leap, the little leaf floating was shredded under my hand.

Our real interaction was when I was seven, he was ten. I was in the Training Center, practicing spears alone, when he approached. It was a surprise, I'm usually ignored like a shadow in the Training Center. I haven't really met Leven yet, though I always went to listen to her Mrs. Robin's wonderous stories. I haven't really talked to anyone expect Cleve, and him approaching me was a complete surprise.

"You won't be able to throw that far," he said, "You're just too small."

Those words seemed to fuse something in me. I gave him a look of contempt and threw it at a dummy ten yards away, spearing its heart. Cato looked momentarily impressed, but it was immediately replaced by a scowl, "You won't live five minutes in the arena, you know."

I lashed the knife I kept in my belt at all times. It narrowly missed his neck, diving its point into a target fifteen feet away where others were practicing bow and arrow. Cato glared at me, and without warning, he picked up a sword and swiped it at me, "Finally. I finally get to practice on a real target."

I dodged the swipe in time, and that moment I grabbed a long knife lying on the ground, "Try me," I said, snarling. And I lunged forward.

I was on him before he knew it. I managed to cut his cheek, but he swiped my leg. I fell to the ground.

"Tiny tiny!" he screeched, "You're just way too tiny!"

Fury flared in me, and I threw my knife as it lodged itself on Cato's thigh. He stopped a moment to access the damage I had inflicted, and that was all I needed. I lunged to my feet and knocked him to the ground.

Sure, he has larger than me, but it takes a lot more to get up when someone's pinned you down. He struggled, but I managed to snag the knife he pulled out of his thigh into my hand. I wove it teasingly in front of his face, "Tiny, you say? Who's the one on the ground about to have their throat slit open? Who?"

Cato flushed, and that's when the trainers noticed us. Noticed that we're actually having a real fight and actually someone's won. They gave cries at first, and pulled me off Cato and we were both suspended from the center for a month. But I didn't come back after that month, I waited a whole year. That meant he would be training in the intermediate section and I would still be in the junior. I would never lay eyes on him again.

That didn't turn out to be true.

Snapped back in reality, I can tell Cato's been following my thoughts. His hands are in a defensive position, and from his face he wants me to make the first move. Daring me, actually.

I do have a real weapon. I had ordered a loaf of bread, claiming I must do a religious ceremony. I asked for a good, sharp knife also, telling the attendant that that was necessary. The attendant, I could plainly tell, was puzzled, but brought me what I wanted. The bread was white and soft and smelled delicious, but it made me think of home. Made me think of the brown stuff our district considers to be bread. Out of anger, I threw the loaf out the window. So that left me with the knife. It had been tucked at my belt the whole evening, and, obviously no one's noticed.

I stand up. That snake of a boy teased me, even challenged me. I can feel the fury I felt eight years ago when we had our first encounter. That wasn't the end of it. We are going into a arena. We will be allies, and I will kill him as soon the tension in the alliance begins. He will die and I will take out the remaining tributes, it won't be much, the tributes reaped all seemed well enough, no huge massive ones, except District 11. At least, the boy. The girl's exceeding small, and I suspect she's got some sort of secret talent also. Nevermind, they die, I win, and I can go home and prove I not just a little girl.

"Maybe you'll have better luck in the arena," I say icily without a second glance. I walk towards the door away from Cato. This idiot boy I despise.

When I reach the doorframe, I realize I don't despise him.

I make a round, "I hate you!" I scream. Cato is sitting looking attentive, and I notice something falling out of his right pocket. Nevermind that, I slam the door to a point. What's with it, anyway? I'll just kill him in the arena. Get some revenge, if it is any. I'll just need to make the first move. I angrily thrust the knife onto the bed stand. Why didn't I recognize him? Why not until he mentioned my size? I have fought with many boys his age since I started in the intermediate section, but how can I forget him? The first one that insulted my size, my strength? In my rage I grab the first nightgown my hands touch, but I was so rough I accidentally tore it.

I stifled a small sigh. Maybe...maybe I was a bit hard. Maybe, I can trick him into thinking I'm soft. I give myself a small laugh and grab another nightgown. After this breakdown it's going to take a lot to make Cato think I'm soft. Maybe I should-I don't know-cry? I remember a girl from one of the poorer districts using that as her strategy. She cried and made herself seem like a sniffling coward. Later, she showed her wicked ability to murder. And, she won the crown using that as her strategy.

As I dress into a random nightgown my hands picked out, another thought crosses my mind. I'm supposed to be a Career, right? So, that rules out the option appearing as a weakling. Anyway, attempting to cry on cue is difficult for me, especially since I spent most my past trying to hide any sort of emotion from my face. I sit on my bed. Whatever my motive is, I have to make it now. By morning I can have it in action, and, quite frankly, since Cato and I have both given our word to be coached together, I don't really want Cato to know my motive. I don't know why, but it makes me feel as if he's robbing part of me. But surely he'll probably figure out what is it. This is just getting me confused.

I need something dangerous, the way Enobaria said it. Something that can intimidate the field. My size is a disadvantage, I know that, so what else is available? I can just try to be plain cold, but that will be a problem with the Career alliance. The others will probably target me if they think I'm that dangerous.

I slowly pull the soft, silky sheets up. It's a real luxury, that's for sure. Now I'm thinking of District 1, and their industry of luxury items. They're always favorites at the Capitol, but personally I think most of them are rather vain and sniffy. Anyways, the comforter is very fluffy, and I probably haven't felt this good my whole entire life. Really.

And suddenly, like a gunshot, I know what my motive is. Sarcasm.

Teachers at school call sarcasm the "teenager's highest sophistication". But seriously, it's a great motive.

Briefly I wonder what Cato's angle will be. He has many choices, because of his size. Though I think everything would fit that sweet, gentle boy.

I love it. Finding something I'll be good at.

But...I should try to lead Cato astray of what I'm trying to do. Maybe-maybe I should go back and apologize. Make him think I'm weak. I smile viciously as I climb off the bed and head out in the nightgown, and honestly, I think it totally fits my plan. It's definitely on to the girly side, with laces and ribbons all around. I guess...I think I look less than eleven.

I know the room is abandoned before I approach it. Yet I still go, I don't know why. I seem to have found a new confidence lighting inside me. And really...if I get enough sponsors, should I honestly count myself out of this? Really...maybe...just maybe...

There is no one on the room. I feel slightly disappointed for a moment, but quickly stop myself. I've got a whole week before we're put into that arena. I have got a bunch of time to feign my approach.

It catches my eye just as I'm about to shut the door and leave. The glimmer of a copper necklace. Vividly I remember Cato having something in his pocket; it must be his district token. Mine is a small gold bracelet with triangular markings on it. Cleve gave it to me, and mentioned something about a gift his friend gave him.

I take a closer look. It's a bug preserve. What's more, the bug is shaped like a two. District 2. Home. I can almost feel the breeze through the trees when I used to run free, no training to worry about, to Hunger Games. Before I turned twelve.

I shut my eyes. It takes a lot to not start crying. I know that if I want to, this is the time. When no one's looking my way, no one cares. When I am not yet part of the games.

Slowly my hands clasp the copper chain. I reel out of the room and back into my comfy bed.

The sun is barely out when I hear rapping at the door. Urgh. Being from District 2, we reach the Capitol at the crack of dawn. Ideally, it would have been late at night, but I briefly remember a Capitol attendant coming up to us at dinner at informing us that the train's had an unfortunate breakdown, making us a few hours behind schedule. I was slightly dazed that time-so many dark thoughts were running through my head. So many dark thoughts through the night, too. The whole night I was plagued by nightmares, reliving moment of Hunger Games that has passed. To feel what it's like in the arena, what Capitol citizens call a "sport".

I put my reaping outfit on again, since I don't want wear anything from the Capitol. I leave my hair the way it is, bedraggled. It won't really matter what I make myself look like now, because in less than a hour we will be pulling into the Capitol, and my stylist will get ahold of me and decide what I look like. I hope they're not as discouraging as Enobaria.

Everyone is at the table except for Alessia Reeky. They are only serving us a little now, our real breakfast will be in the Capitol. Still, that doesn't bother how rich and savory all the food is. Like all Capitol food.

Enobaria and Brutus appears to be in some argument, with Cato right between them. I avoid looking at Cato, and instead focus on the quarrel our mentors are having.

"If you don't want to help-" Enobaria is snarling, her surgically altered teeth impossible to miss, "We might as well find a replacement. Seriously, you haven't lift a finger to help our tributes."

"And you've been a lot help," Brutus shoots back, "Yesterday you spent the whole time discussing how small Clove was."

I feel my face burning up, and I pretend to concentrate on the roll I'm nibbling on. I decide that I dislike Brutus more than I do Enobaria.

Alessia Reeky chooses this moment to bust in through the door. I assume she's spent the morning renewing her makeup, her curly hair is bright neon green and her gold tattoos seem to jump out of her skin. "We're about to pull in!" she squeals.

I let out a small gasp. We're in a tunnel. The walls are as smooth as the marble mined at District 2, the shape a perfect semicircle. I wonder what tools are needed to create this.

"Show time," Brutus mumbles under his breath. He gives Cato and I a sidelong glance, "Enobaria'll take care of you. Just do what she says." He smirks and sits back as if watching television.

Enobaria scoffs loudly. Then she too sits back and watches us, "We'll be pulling in soon. You'll have about twenty seconds to present yourself to the citizens. Just stand at the window and stick your head out."

I wasn't expecting anything like this. I'm not sure if it's a good idea to stick my head out the window, my hair is so messed up and my face still has soot from last night's wander. But when I ask Enobaria, she tells me not to fret; the citizens won't care at all for now, and to start worrying when my stylist gets hold of me.

I grit my teeth in frustration. The way she'd said it, you'd think she was talking to a three-year-old.

Alessia Reeky starts a countdown. Cato and I have positioned ourselves at the window, still exchanging no comment. Then, without warning, we pull into the Capitol.

The buildings amaze me so much at first that I don't even acknowledge the shrieking crowd below. "Skyscraper" was a word I learned from school, and these buildings really do seem to scrape the sky. They're silver and just so large...and there are so many of them.

A poke brings me to reality. I give a little jump, which somehow makes the crowd go wild. I automatically turn to Cato, whose suppressing a small smile.

He's doing what we're supposed to be doing. I can imagine Enobaria staring me down, considering exactly how hopeless I am. So I smile at the crowd that will be betting on how long I live, and wave cheerfully as if I were the president entering the Capitol. I try to look cool and smug and bored and whatever Cato's doing. Soon, we pull in our station.

The moment we're out of the view of the citizens, Brutus bursts out laughing. I smile sheepishly, and glance at Enobaria whose giving half a wholehearted smile. Cato is positively beaming. I can't ignore all this.

"Thanks," I mumble.

Now Enobaria and Cato are both chortling, and I don't see why they think it's all so funny. I just got a bit carried away, right? Cato poked me to wake me up, and our mentors think this is all so hilarious.

Alessia Reeky is the only one who didn't seem to find my entrance extremely amusing. She's wearing a disapproving look. Enobaria weaves her way across the room and faces me, "You're not entirely hopeless, I guess," she says.

"Don't count me out," I reply.

Brutus stops a moment, "Hey, I thought she was the strong one here!"

This takes me completely by surprise. I can tell Cato has stiffened. Enobaria tilts her head, "Who knows? Maybe." And to my surprise, Cato gives another chuckle. After a moment I think it might have been a sarcastic one.

There's no more time for talk, but I feel a lot better today than I did yesterday. I don't hate Brutus, and I don't hate Enobaria either. They're doing their job. It must be hell to mentor two kids and watch them slaughter each other in an arena. And didn't Brutus say it before? I was just approaching the door with Alessia Reeky, "Who would want to mentor two kids and watch them die? I would rather go back to the arena myself. Seriously, why can't these kids just wing it out? Makes my job easier."

Mentoring will be my job when I win these games. When Cato is dead, and when I am crowned victor. We are both at the Capitol. The journey has begun.


	4. Chapter 4

**Cato—Chapter 4**

I've been in the Remake Center for more than an hours and I haven't met my stylist yet. The whole time consists of my prep team rubbing grit off my body and rubbing an exfoliating foam onto my skin that transforms it into a mass of satin. My hair is rubbed and softened, so it ends up as a glowing ball of soft shiny gold. They've been removing hair using a warm wax and picking off stray hair they claim to be "out of place". I don't understand why this is important. I know the best-looking tributes tend to gain the audience's favor, but who would notice a stray hair on my ankle? A smudge of dirt at the corner of my eye? Only some muttated hawk could spot those.

I'm still a bit dazed when my prep team finishes me. I'm completely naked and feel like a plucked chicken and they stand there, just inspecting me. But I can sort of tell my skin's been reinvented, just rubbing my arms I can tell they are sparkling clean, smooth, and glowing. "Marvelous!" a guy with blue frizzly hair that must be a wig says. I think his name is Polurio-I wasn't really paying attention to any of the chatter they were chattering on. Something about ribbons, I think.

Anyways, my stylist is in before I have a chance to second-thought my prep team. They seem to totally love me, even though I think they're kind of idiots. Nice idiots though, and I guess that much suits me just as much.

"Hi, Cato," my stylist says, "I'm Asher." I recognize her. She's been on television a few years now. Some stylists stay around my whole life. The District 2 male stylist was replaced only a couple years ago, this is the first time I get a good look at her. She's intent but focused, whereas my prep team's always blabbing on about something ridiculous. Her hair seems to be a natural shade of auburn that is cut in a bob. Her skin is a pale olive color, and there's not much signs of tattoos or surgically placed material. In fact, Asher doesn't appear to have any makeup on. She seems to be behind the Capitol couture.

"Hey," I say quietly, but Asher doesn't seem to acknowledge it. She's circling around my body, her eyes eating up every inch of it. Her hands are still crossed when she looks up, "Nice to meet you."

"You too," I say.

She smiles, "You can put on your robe and we can have a little chat. Sila, Clove's stylist, and I have an idea for the tribute parade."

I put the thin robe I was allowed to take on and off in the room. My reaping clothes were taken away after our official breakfast, when I was led to a room I can't convey as anything except white. White walls, white chairs, white floor, white ceiling, even the guard that assisted me was wearing a white uniform. The white guard said he'd leave my clothes on my bed for me if I wanted it after they've scanned it for bugs. Why? Why would the bugs be on my clothing? If I actually had bugs, wouldn't it be on me? Then it occurs to me that the white room may have scanned me and I hadn't noticed.

Bugs. _Bugs_. My district token. The last I remember of Royal's gift was in the train compartment where Clove had her mental breakdown. I noticed it was gone in the morning. I went back to the train compartment before our pre-breakfast, and nothing was there. I feel guilty for losing the thing I was supposed to bring into the arena to remind me of home. But then again, I will come back soon, and give Royal an official apology.

Something was weird though. When I checked the room for the bug preserve, the door was open. Wide open. I distinctively remember shutting the door because I wanted to make a good impression by not making too much noise. The two and two just don't fit.

I am still thinking about the bug preserve when I am aware of the room Asher has brought me into. It's kind of like a living room back home, but one entire wall is glass, so there is a clear view of the entire city below. It stuns me, everything back home is stone, and windows are oddly shaped and made of a material somewhere between plastic and glass. Everyone at home calls it glastick, and I guess it's suitable since the material is sticky but fragile enough to break with your fist.

Two red couches sit in the middle of the room facing each other. Asher invites me to sit, and I make my way to it, not taking my view off the city below. This is what Clove must have seen when she first entered the city. I was focused on the grotesque citizens below cheering their heads off. The buildings are taller than some of the clouds, and I'm not even sure how high up I am. The view suggests that I am quite high, but I don't remember the elevator ride being particularly long. The clouds are fluffy and white, and one of the buildings in the center seems to touch the sun.

Asher sits down across from me, "It's quite a sight, isn't it?"

I don't get how she can understand, "Yes," I say.

"That's the thing about the districts. They get their own luxuries and discomforts, while the Capitol gets shipments of everything. You're lucky to be here."

Right. Because I'm going back. "Yes. But I still think I like home better."

Asher gives a small laugh, "Me too. I miss home. But this sight is still worth it to see."

This takes me aback. Isn't the Capitol her home? She's a stylist. At the Capitol. Of course this is her home.

She sees right through my thoughts, "I'm from District 2. I was assigned as a Peacekeeper in District 11. I was a...special circumstance," she says. This explains the plainness in her attire. I'm about to ask a question but she continue abruptly, "It was interesting at first, but it got, ah, boring. Later I was invited to the Capitol for a party as a Peacekeeper. The District 2 male stylist was there. Larla." She adds after a pause, "She died that day. The medics said there was poison in her wine. No one knew how it happened." Asher pauses a moment, as if analyzing her thoughts.

"Anyways," she continues, before the pause gets too pregnant, "This was pretty near the next Hunger Games, and they needed a stylist fast. As you see, not many citizens here are capable of handling the job as a stylist. I volunteered. They couldn't do much, and there weren't many options left." She looks at me, "I'm eager to finally have someone who can win."

I force a smile, "Thanks," I mutter. After gazing out the window a few more seconds, I add, "Do you like it then? Designing clothes?"

Asher sighs, "I don't really know. It's a bit more interesting than eleven, but I'm eager to get home. But now I'm stuck here until they find some other replacement." When she sees my face, she adds, "It's not all that bad! I'm not as talented at designing clothes as Sila, and it's the idea that counts. And here's the idea for this year," Asher leans forward.

It's customary that for the tribute parade, the tributes wear something that reflects their district's principal industry. Being from District 2, that will mean something to do with masonry. Maybe something to do with Peacekeepers, but that isn't public knowledge. At school the teachers tell us how lucky we are to have the privilege to train as Peacekeepers. Even though apparently the other districts think all the Peacekeepers come from the Capitol. I wonder how stupid they can get, Capitol citizens as Peacekeepers? Of course there are a few, but most the population comes from District 2. Oh, how special are we.

"Masonry," Asher says, "and training Peacekeepers. We mine marble, mostly. And why do we mine marble? To build buildings. Peacekeepers are supposed to be strong, right? So we came up with strong and marble buildings. What does that add up to?"

It takes me a moment to register that she actually wants me to answer. "Uh," I say. I screw my brain for an answer. A strong civilization and marble buildings? What can that add up to? "Rome," I get out.

"Very good," Asher compliments, "Rome. One of the strongest civilizations in global history. Lasting survivors. That's the idea."

"Rome." I repeat, "You mean we'll be dressing like Roman citizens?" I don't want to offend her, but I think it's a bit plain.

"No, Cato," she says, "We're thinking power here. You want to show all of them you're the best, right? The most powerful. Who's the most powerful in a Roman civilization?"

That stumps me. Powerful? Wouldn't that be...I don't know. Thank gods I never really pay attention during History. That's it-gods!

"Gods!" I blurt out.

"Yes," Asher says, smiling. She pushes a button on the side of a couch, and the space between us turns to emptiness. The next second, an outfit is draped between us.

It's a golden skirt that will probably go up to my knees. The waistband is paler, and the top has feather-like metal material covering up the chest piece. A headpiece comes along with it. It looks as though the piece will go across my forehead, and a bolted-looking design is on it. The ends of the piece expands into a triangular shape also covered with the strong metal feathery material, and I can't help thinking how the wearer will seem to look like they're about to take flight. To cap it all, there are gold sandals that will probably lace up to my shin.

"It's…wonderful," I get out.

"I thought it would be suiting. Clove has a similar outfit, though her's is considerably smaller," she smiles, "Now, you can go see your room level. On that tower," she points to a tall building almost right ahead of us.

It's taller than the one we're in. I already thought we were up high, but that? I can't even see the top!

"Of course, you'll be on floor two," Asher continues. I can practically feel my excitement melt. Those weaklings from eleven and twelve get the higher floors? Wow, maybe if they knew they get such luxury before the games, they might start volunteering.

I am escorted to our building by a guard. I don't know if I'm imagining it, but he looks a little scared. Of what, I don't know. Me? Maybe I did do my job a little too well. Maybe I'm more intimidating than I think.

The District 2 floor is interesting enough. The view isn't spectacular, but it has many comforts we don't see to at home. The dressers are full of clothes I know I'll never wear, the shower system has at least a hundred buttons more than the one on the train. There's a high-tech TV in a living room, and an orange jellyfish-shaped lamp sitting on a table that looks like it's pure metal. I try to lift it, and it's heavy, all right. I rub my fingers against the fluffy lush purple carpet, and examine the light at the end of the room, specifically designed to look like a silver tree. Intricate glassware sits on multiple oddly shaped pieces of furniture, and like everything else in the Capitol, it is grotesque and weird. I find myself spending half-an-hour examining the funny looking lights above my head, which are shaped like icicles. The walls are odd too, I can tell at first sight that it's stone, but for some reason it was designed to be conveyed as wood. How odd. I sit myself on the overly large leather sofa in the middle of the room, and observe the rainbow-colored pillow placed about. About an hour later Clove comes into the room and plops herself onto the couch.

There's silence for a while. Then Clove reaches for the TV remote and turns the TV on. They are showing the reapings again, this time interviewers comment on the tributes, their fitness, age, facial expression, and predict the how long they will last in the games. Unfortunately, by the time we start watching, they've already passed all the Career Districts, and is predicting how long the red-haired girl from District 5 will last.

After these showings, the channel switches to advertisements. It probably one of the most hilarious things I've ever saw. Grotesquely dressed females and males walk around in clothes that I can only call feathery and ugly. Even if I win and spend years at the Capitol, I will never be able to understand this fashion taste.

I start a conversation with Clove when an advertisement about eye tattoos show up.

"What do you think about our costumes?" I ask.

"Flashing," she says and grins, "Except for the fact that you're about twice as tall as me."

I stay cool, "Will the audience even care?"

"Of course not. They won't notice anything but you. With you size and buff and obesity."

It takes a moment for me to realize that she has just offended me.

"True," I say, and I smile as sweetly as I can. Too late, I realize how stupid I must look and resume my former face expression. Luckily, Clove's attention is focused on the TV screen where a show involving talking birds is flashing.

Nothing is going to change. Clove still sees me as an opponent, and...why shouldn't I? We are going to be allies, but to what extent? Eventually someone is going to have to die. I see that I haven't been thinking about anything in the matter of the games.

No way. I am winning this. Nothing can distract me. I have family and friends waiting for me at home. Which shall always remain my home.

In a couple of hours we are dressed in our costumes. Clove has an identical outfit, except her helmet is more complete. It seems the maker didn't finish mine, the top of my helmet exposed. I can't help but think how much her's looks like the victor's crown. It would fit splendidly with her dark hair.

We make it by our chariot, pulled by four brown horses whose hue is almost exactly the same color as Clove's hair. These creatures are so well trained, no one needs to guide them. The animal's life must evolve around the Hunger Games, pulling a pair of tributes into the City Circle and continuing its life of comfort.

Near us, I see the lush couple of District 1 standing and being cooed by their stylists. They're absolutely beautiful, spray-painted silver with tasteful tunics glittering with jewels. They both look dashing, but for some reason their stylists look cross.

Before I notice, Clove is up to them, "Hi, I'm Clove," she says to the girl, "You look gorgeous."

This is some different person I was talking to in front of the TV screen. "Thanks," the girl says, brushing away her comment. She's almost as tall as me, her blonde hair in waves around the tunic and emerald green eyes sparkling. But still, she lacks the sense of a tribute. She's tall and attractive, but she won't have an easy time winning the games.

I'm almost finished with my self-report when she notices me. She blinks and gushes, "And who are you? I'm Glimmer." I can almost see Clove rolling her eyes beside me.

"Cato."

Soon we start a conversation about quite shallow stuff, where we're from, home conditions, how we think of the Capitol, all whom I honestly don't really care about. Clove talks with the boy from District 1, whose name, I think I heard, was Marvel. Eventually the tributes of District 4, Marina and Breck, join us, both draped in shades of blue and luminous pearls weaved into their hair. Various pins reflecting the ocean is pinned on the blue fabric, and they seem to glow underneath the costume.

I get a clear image of who my allies are. Glimmer will be a handful when the time comes, but I'm confident that I'll be able to beat her in single-combat. Marvel, I'll have to evaluate during training. He's fit and attractive enough, maybe I found competition. Marina also looks strong, stronger than both Glimmer and Clove, but she's shorter than Glimmer. Maybe that won't matter in the games. Breck is...I don't exactly know how he'll even survive the first day. He's probably either twelve or thirteen.

The opening music begins. We pass around luck I know will not help anyone in the arena, since I will win. Glimmer and Marvel position themselves into their chariot, pulled by beautiful snow-white horses. The gigantic doors open, revealing thousands of faces craning to get a small glimpses at us. Yuck. Like examining some raw meat before it's cooked. The crowd shrieks as Glimmer and Marvel make their appearance into the City Center, a ride about twenty minutes where onlookers will observe the new batch of tributes. Brought to the Capitol to be beautified, and put into an arena for slaughter, all for the Capitol's amusement and entertainment.

Clove and I are in our chariots, ready to make our appearance. Asher and Sila spent the last few minutes socializing with the other mentors-they must have known each other for years. I see the grayish twilight sky of the Capitol, not the dark blue from home. Before I know it, we're approaching the door and I try my best to compose myself. I see a flashing star in the distance, and that's the last I see before I'm engulfed by the roar of the crowd.

Shouts are everywhere, louder than I've ever heard. People are screaming my name, and Clove's too. I can't help but feel proud for Asher, but that was before they came out.

District 12. As Eleven raced through, the boy twice as tall as the girl, I noticed a flicker. A small one, and it grew, and that's when they came out.

Flowing capes of red, orange, and yellow, somehow made to look like on fire. The crowd screams their delight, and all attention is screened on them. They're too dazzling for the words to say. Only the eye can describe

This was not what I expected. It's pretty obvious, District 12 blew all of us right off the face Panem.


	5. Chapter 5

**Clove—Chapter 5**

Katniss's stylist had no problem letting her shine. Literally. It's so difficult to keep my eyes off her and her partner's flickering. And the flames just seem to bring out the gray in her eyes.

As we loop around the City Circle, I see the tattooed faces of prestigious citizens packed along the buildings around the Circle. They're all gazing behind us and shouting Katniss and...Peter? I can't make it out, but Peter is an unusual name. I feel a twinge of jealously. When we came out, no one bothered to look into the program for our names, even just our first names. And now, not one, but a lot of citizens are screaming Katniss and Peter's name. And they-do they really look scared? A little frightened? Our chariot settles in front of President's Snow's mansion. I stare at a televised screen, and I see that the cameramen are being completely unfair and have focused on the District 12 chariot for about a minute.

"They look pathetic." I hear Cato whisper.

I don't reply. I can tell that he doesn't believe what he just said. They are obviously dazzling and taking all the attention from everyone else. I feel ready to actually start the games at the moment when Twelve's chariot pulls to a halt in front of President Coriolanus Snow's mansion. The music ends with a flourish, and the president, a smallish man with snow-white hair and a papery beard, walks up the podium. His voice is magnified a hundred times, making it strange watching the small man talk so loud and casually.

"Welcome," President Snow is saying, "Welcome, tributes. We welcome you. We salute your courage and your sacrifice." Applause. "Happy Hunger Games! And may the odds, be ever in your favor." Big applause.

The clapping and screaming goes on a few seconds, and the national anthem starts to play. You can tell that the cameras are trying to get a shot of all pairs of tributes as they parade around the City Circle one last time. It's showable that they stay on District 12 the longest. We are completely buried by them.

We clatter into the Training Center after District 1. Their faces tell pretty much the same as I feel. We are all surrounded by our stylists and prep team and mentors, and one glance from Brutus and Enobaria tells me that our first appearance did not make a big enough splash. I glance around, and see that not only the Careers are throwing dirty looks at the pair of District 12. Other, poorer districts are throwing looks too. You can tell that Katniss notices this. They are engulfed by their prep team, and their mentor, Haymitch, did Brutus say? Well, the drunk mentor was talking, and then he stares the general direction of our chariots.

It takes a moment for me to realize that he's staring at Cato, and not me. Obviously. His size, buffness, and obesity.

They share stares a moment, and by this time Katniss had noticed too. After a few seconds, Haymitch beckons both of his tributes to come with him, probably to their floor level.

"That Cinna is a genius," I hear someone say. I turn and realize it is Cato's stylist, Asher.

"No worries," Marina says cheerfully, overhearing what Asher had said, "They weren't amazing. It was just their stylists. It's the real skill that counts." It crosses my mind that I like Marina a lot more than the other Careers.

"No worries,' Brutus echoes, and chuckles, "Sweetie pie, it's time you all get some rest. We have a big day of improving tomorrow."

This doesn't rub Marina. She shrugs, and hustles away with Breck and their team.

I turn and follow Sila. She doesn't notice me until we're in the elevator. "Did you see them?" she hisses.

I'm taken aback, "Yes…they were amazing, weren't they?" I ask hesitantly.

"Yes," Sila sniffs, "Them. Not their stylists, like everyone else says."

I pause, "But they were just standing in a chariot! Everything else was already set up for them." The elevator door shuts, and out of my peripheral vision I can tell Marina and Breck are eavesdropping.

"No," Sila contradicts, "Did you even pay attention? They were presenting themselves as one! They were holding hands! And the girl was actually smiling! Did you even notice?"

I consider my options. If I say, yes I was paying attention, Sila will ask why I didn't notice. If I say, no I wasn't paying attention, then Sila would ask why I didn't compose myself better. I'm a dead rat stuck in a corner.

Luckily, Marina comes to my rescue, "They were amazing," she confesses, "But what does Clove have to do with it? They did beat us all by about a hundred, and that's all of us," she pauses, "They were really distracting. That flickering made it so I couldn't keep my eyes off them."

This seems to calm Sila down. At least Capitol citizens don't hold their grudges. "Thanks," I whisper to Marina, and she just smiles and winks.

When we exit the elevator, the first thing I notice is Enobaria leaning back an admiring Brutus and Cato. It takes a moment for me to realize that they are wrestling each other. To my surprise, no one stops them. When Brutus pins Cato onto the ground, Enobaria wags a finger. "Nuh-uh," she says with false sweetness, "That can't happen in the games. If Brutus here had a knife, you would long be gone," she walks around Cato, who is struggling to catch a breath, "Get up. Do it again with me."

I watch from the foot of the glass elevator as Enobaria gets into a heated fight. She's just as good as Brutus, but many times faster. At one point, Cato's got his hand clamped over her face with a triumphant look, but lets go quickly and Enobaria immediately slams him onto the ground with brute strength. "That wasn't fair," Cato moans, "Your teeth give you an advantage."

"As does your size," Enobaria says, brushing away the complaint. They don't even notice me standing there observing the whole scene unfold. I walk to my room, and fall asleep instantly in my clothes.

When I wake up, my depressing dreams fill me with hollow thoughts. The day when I realized that I was worth no more than a piece of furniture. When I started training, and the trainer called me a "worthless piece of dump." The first time I ran away, the first time Leven came looking for me. My confrontation with Peacekeepers. Visions of Leven and I enjoying ourselves, to be ripped up into shreds with blood coatings. Lite's final moments. Mrs. Robin's grief. The big duel I had with Cato so many years ago.

Dawn is creeping slowly through the windowsill. The air seems mushy and misty, and my head is so confused it takes me a moment to realize even where I am. Exhausted from the night's torture, I drag myself into the shower and accidently run into the panel full of switches and buttons. I end up being run over by jets of icy cold and burning hot waters in my clothes I wore yesterday. I strip myself and try to bath as slowly as possible.

By the time I finish, the sun has creeped over the vast of high buildings. I'm surprised no one came to call me, they'll probably come soon. But I better not disappoint myself, so I go and see for myself.

Oh, they did started eating, but to my surprise, they haven't gotten far. Alessia Reeky is squeaking about the big splash District 12 made, as if that'll help us with anything. Sila is looking glum, and so is Asher. Enobaria and Brutus both have bruises on their face, and I can't help but wonder if Cato actually managed to beat both of them. This makes me shiver from the spine. I will have to work a lot harder than I thought. Cato is looking glum too, and more than anything I wish that Leven or maybe even Marina were here to cheer up the gloomy mood.

"Training." Enobaria suddenly says, cutting Alessia off, "We will be coaching you two together, since you are to be allies in the arena. Deal with it. Now, we need to clear some things up. True, District 12 was amazing during the opening ceremony, but that was not them. That was their stylists." Enobaria gives a hard stare at Asher and Sila, both who keep their glum state and stare at their stew.

"Besides," Brutus says with a chuckle, "We are the Careers! Who can beat us? Who can throw us around? Let District 12 do whatever they want. They'll die when the time comes, and who needs sponsors? These two can handle it. I did. You did, too," he says, addressing Enobaria.

Enobaria's sharp teeth slice right through a roll, "True. You have three days in the Training Center, where you will be observed by the Gamemakers. They already know you're great, because you two are from District 2. Impress them. Make sure you show them what you can do. Try to show the others, too."

As Enobaria says this, I run through a list of things I can show the Gamemakers besides knife-throwing. I might try some other long-distance weapon-maybe archery? Or a spear? Perhaps maybe even a throwing axe. I've tried them; they're heavier, and much more lethal.

We finish eating at around nine-thirty. By this time, Alessia Reeky is fussing over how late we will be if we don't finish eating immediately. For some unknown reason, these Capitol citizens, Alessia Reeky, Asher, and Sila, are very different from what I imagined a Capitol citizen to be like. Except for maybe the makeup and tattoos Alessia and Sila has. At nine-fifty, Cato finally finishes eating his monstrous breakfast. Alessia tells us to go to the ground floor, and follow the row of Avoxes to the training rooms. I don't even know what an Avox is, but am too afraid to ask. I'll figure it out downstairs. Cato heads towards the elevator, and I follow, feeling as though I'd forgotten something behind. I realize I did. I left my whole life behind because of these Games. And now I have to go compose myself as a totally different person. Anger blocks my initial fright of meeting District 12, until I realize I shouldn't be afraid of District 12.

Cato pushes the button pointing down, and mumbles, "What is an Avox?"

I feel a little better that I'm not the only one that doesn't know. "I don't know. Maybe signs or something."

Surprisingly, Marina and Breck are in the elevator when the door slides open. There's another pair, I think from District 10, is there too, huddled in a corner, obviously not expecting to meet two pairs of Careers before training even starts.

"Hi!" Marina says cheerfully as she sees me. I flash a smile, and I know that if I got to choose my own allies, Marina would be probably the only one. Cato acknowledges Breck with a nod, and it's a strange pairing because Breck is about half as short and Cato.

As we reach the bottom floor, I whisper to Marina, "What's an Avox?"

"It's like a servant or something," Marina replies. I nod, and think how stupid I must seem when Cato finds out that an Avox is a person, not a thing.

The elevator door opens, and I immediately see a line of red-dressed Avoxes. Their hair is pulled back, and their eyebrows are dyed red. Their lips are black, and they all have red ribbons around their necks. Strangest of all, their mouths are placed in a strange position. After exchanges looks with Marina, we follow the line down, and eventually make it to an enormous gymnasium. A quick glance tells me we're the first ones to arrive. The room is full of various weapons and obstacle courses. I'm itching to try this out. The Training Academy back home isn't as good, even though they're coaches everywhere telling you to work harder. I'm still gazing at the room in awe as someone pins a square cloth with the number 2 onto my back.

"You're Training Academy is better than ours." Marina whispers to me, and I know it's true. She must be keener to get going than I am.

In the next eight or nine minutes, I observe the tributes that walk in. They seem to be in all shapes and sizes, teenier than me, or built like a bulldozer. A good example is the District 11 tributes, the girl considerably smaller than me, and the boy built like an ox, probably bigger than Cato.

Hm. If this guy beats Cato, then can I beat him? I guess I'll just have to see how he fights with that big shape. Because no fail, there's always a big one that doesn't know how to handle a knife.

District 12 comes in last. They're dressed alike, and I can't help but let out a small laugh.

Exactly at ten, Atala, the head trainer, steps up and starts to explain about the training schedule. The Training Academy back home says the rules are almost the same. There are trainers at each station to help us. We can travel anywhere we like prior to our mentor's instructions. Any form of combative exercise with other tributes are forbidden, and there are assistants that will assist us if we want to practice with a partner. I glance at the girl to the left of me. It's the red-haired girl from District 5. I dare not turn around, but I see Breck standing next to Katniss. Urgh...I actually start to listen to what Atala is saying. "No fighting with other tributes. You'll have plenty of time for that in the arena." Nothing new, "My advice is don't ignore the survival skills. Twenty-three of you will die. One will not. Who that is depends on your ability to anticipate. Everyone wants to grab a sword, but lots of you will die of natural causes. Ten percent from infection. Twenty percent from dehydration. One year the arena was a frozen tundra. Five years ago it was a burning desert. Exposure can kill you as easily as a knife."

Atala reads through the list of activities, and I note which ones will help in my case. Long range is better than short for me, and survival skills, despite her speech, will most likely not come in much use. The classic way for the Careers is to capture all the supplies during the bloodbath, which usually provides enough essentials to last through the whole Games. But Atala's right, it still isn't something to ignore. When Atala releases us with a whistle, the Careers spread to different stations. Glimmer goes to archery, Marvel travels to spear-throwing, Cato is handling swords with ease, and Breck was alone at the fire-starting station. I look over at Marina, "Where would you like to start?" I ask.

"I don't know. We can start with something we're not good at." Since she's upright with axes, and I'm good with the knife, we cross the training floor and practice some hand-to-hand combat. Marina is considerably better at this than me, she's just as fast me but much larger and stronger. We work about an hour, at one point practicing on assistants and beating them up pretty bad. Then we move on to weight-lifting. By now, Cato's left the sword station and is helping Glimmer with her spearing skills. We observe the tributes around us. Some are very big, but very incompetent with a weapon. Many seem to be handling one for the first time.

Over the course of the day, I refresh my skills and improve my relationships with the other tributes. Glimmer isn't really bad, except she has appalling stomachaches every few hours. She's alright with the bow-and-arrow, even though she can never get a bull-eye shot like me with the knife. Marina is fantastic with the axe-once she threw it at a target with such force, the whole contraption split in half. The twenty or so Gamemakers sitting on plush purple couches on an elevated stand seemed to find this particularly amusing. They seem to be eating an endless banquet, or walking among us jotting notes.

Cato and Marvel coach Marina and I for an hour in hand-to-hand combat in exchange for long-distance instructions. Breck has the ability to do basically everything; but is not specialized in anything. He's extremely bright though, and is very enthusiastic on non-combative skills. I swear he can start a fire out of anything, so after a while of listening to the monotonous trainer moon on about fire-starting, I just tune out and copy everything Breck does. Once, his curly longish hair caught fire and the trainers and assistant had a big job of getting rid of it.

District 12 seems to be keeping a low profile. They travel from station to station quietly, and together, which I don't understand.

Lunch is eaten in the gymnasium. Carts with foods are rolled out, and you serve yourself. Us Careers spend this time discussing tactics for the arena, and whether any other tributes would make an desirable ally.

"What about him?" Breck asks one day, looking pointedly at the general direction of the District 11 tributes. That's the one that's built like an ox. About seven feet tall, very solitary, and showing basically no interest in training.

Cato is the one that approaches him, "Hi," he says in a way I've never heard him talk, "I'm Cato. What's your name?"

Eleven doesn't stop chewing his food until a full five seconds later. Then he looks up, and grunts, "Thresh."

"Okay. Do you want to come eat with us?"

This time Thresh doesn't even look up, "No."

Obviously Cato or anyone weren't expecting that answer, "Oh. Well, if you change your mind, come join us any time." When Cato comes back to our group, he mumbles, "Even if he joins us, I'll kill him the second I have a chance." For a moment I actually think that's a good thing, because a weak Cato is easier to fight than a strong Cato.

Sometimes I feel awkward eating with the Careers, while basically everyone is spread apart like lost sheep. The one exception is that District 12, a subject that comes up daily.

"Katniss and Peter seems to be having a good time," I say gloomily after a particularly loud outburst of laughter from them.

"Peeta," Marina corrects. Oh well, but this is surprising. I've heard that tributes from the poorer districts go insane after they're reaped. These two...they seem to think that this is a vacation or something. Maybe they're retarded.

"How do you know their names?" Glimmer asks, picking at a piece of salty bread.

"Opening ceremony," Marina answers. I don't know whether I should be scared, Marina is everything I am and more. This is the kind of person I should watch out for. People who are similar in the Hunger Games do not get along well.

Near the end of the training day, I line up at the ropes course. This is one of the coolest courses I've ever seen...thick ropes that form a net stretch all the way to the ceiling. The goal is to climb all the way to the top, where thicker, coarse, ropes stretch across the ceiling. It's harder than it looks. To my delight, I make it up the fastest time, with my light weight and balance. I line up again with Cato, Marvel, and Glimmer to try a faster time and maybe reach the thicker ropes crossing the ceiling. Maybe just by luck, Peeta is on it, and struggling pretty bad. I smile sarcastically, and glance over at the Gamemakers on their elevated stands. The majority is fixated on him. Marvel winks at me, and that causes me to almost laugh.

Precisely at the moment Peeta loses his balance and falls off with a thud. Wonderful. This will bring Twelve's attention down a little bit. A few seconds after this thought goes into my head, I see Katniss lean over and whisper something to Peeta. They glance at the Gamemakers. Obviously they seem to know what is wrong now. Abruptly, Katniss stands up and walks away, and Peeta slowly comes to his feet too. He walks toward the rack of metal weights. The whole way he glares at us with defiance.

I wonder what he's going to do. His expression isn't positive.

I watch as he picks up a large medicine ball weight by the handle. Glimmer whispers something to Cato, and they both guffaw. But I know this is not a bluff, the way Katniss spoke to Peeta, and look of contempt on Peeta's face right now.

He throws the weight a nice ten feet into the air and it collides with a rack of spears. Glimmer and Cato stop snickering, and we watch Peeta pant for a full five seconds.

"Well, that wasn't too bad," Cato says finally with false cheerfulness.

The rest of the day is swift, and I'm actually looking forward to another day in the Training Center. Marina and I eventually practice by every station, and pick up some skills we never learnt at home. Marina's never been taught how to make shelters or snares, and (to Marina's amazement,) no one's ever taught me how to use a trident. We tie knots I'm pretty sure won't ever come in use, and we practice camouflage. Ideally, this won't come in any use either, but we have fun swirling mud and clay and berry juices onto our skin, smearing each other. In the end, I'm supposed to look like a fish, and even Breck joined the laughter. Afterwards, while Marina continues at the camouflage station with Glimmer, Breck and I go study edible insects and plants. Usually this doesn't come in much use either, but we do it anyways, you never know, maybe this year the Gamemakers will get rid of all sources of food and we will have to live on insects for protein.

Later that day, we try the gauntlets. To me, it looks like a huge playground with assistants attempting to attack you. The whole thing is timed, building agility and speed. The part I think is great is the assistants attacking you part, which uses balance and strength. I think it's fun. Others don't. The girl from District 3 falls off and splits her lip pretty bad. The Careers and I start laughing, it's the most ridiculous trip I've ever saw. I do notice that others show concern though, such as her district partner, except Glimmer elbows him and he reluctantly starts laughing too.

I practice archery with Glimmer. Spears with Marvel. Axes with Marina. And I constantly go back to the knife-throwing station. The knives are much easier to handle than the ones at home...this is a good thing. At one point, Cato and I practice close-range knife fighting together, and the trainer running the station is full of enthusiasm at my skills. I don't think Cato likes this at all, and becomes very grouchy. When his knife disappears, he rounds on the boy from District 6.

"Where's my knife, huh?" Cato asks him.

The boy's eyes widen. He has a strong build, and appears to be about in his late teens. He looks frightened to be directly addressed by the largest Career. Accused for stealing his knife. The boy starts to contradict, by Cato drowns him down.

"I put my knife right there, and suddenly it-tell me where my knife is!" Cato shoves the boy hard on the shoulder. It crosses my mind the Cato might have mental issues.

"You took my knife! Admit it, admit it, and I maybe won't bust your head right now. Tell me where my knife is. You took my knife!" By this point all attention is focused on Cato and the District 6 male as they roughly start shoving each other. Trainers and assistants come and separate them.

On the third day of training, starting around the middle of lunch, Marvel is called down for his private session. About ten minutes later, Glimmer is called, and before she leaves she again complains about another stomachache. Ten minutes later Cato is called.

I brace myself, and I can tell Breck and Marina are nervous too. This is our biggest moment for sponsors. This is the time to show them everything. Interviews don't really count, since it really public and it doesn't really show any skill from the Careers. Enobaria and Brutus haven't given me any advice on what to show the Gamemakers whatsoever, but I have a basic idea of what to do.

Before I can finish that thought, I am called in.

A few hours later, Brutus is mooning on what we've done wrong, even though he didn't know what we did. He states over a thousand times in a drunk way that if we get a low score our life is basically over. I think he's purposely trying to stress us out, and I like it. I always listen to his mooning, but I can tell Cato doesn't. Watching Brutus in this state actually makes me feel better. Enobaria, on the other hand, has left the sitting room for her own sanity. Cato is nervously flipping through the TV channels, obviously sinking in everything Brutus says. I'm still lost in my own thoughts, jumbled in my head so thickly I'll never see them through. We've just finished dinner, and the training scores are bound to get through any minute.

Alessia Reeky comes in in the most ridiculous golden outfit I've ever seen. Minutes later, Sila and Asher appears, and Sila demands that Cato switch to the correct channel and stop messing with the remote. Cato looks surprised. No one else is, so he gently passes the remote to Sila and she sets up the correct channel, where Claudius Templesmith and Caesar Flickerman are discussing the tributes in more detail based on the reaping and opening ceremony. Not the first time, I wonder how many citizens actually watch this repetitive channel, when Enobaria walks in and the scores begin to show.

Caesar Flickerman gets the show rolling, "The tributes were rated on a scale of one to twelve, after three days of careful evaluation," he announces, "The Gamemakers want to acknowledge that it was an exceptional group of tributes, as the scores in a moment will indicate."

First they show an image of the tribute. Then they flash their score below it. The scores range between one as irredeemably bad, and twelve being unattainably high. This signifies the promise of the tribute. Obviously it doesn't mark who will win, because I can bet that Cato will get a higher score than me, but I will win nevertheless. These scores just indicate the potential of a tribute in training, which is between the eight-to-ten range for a Career. Ideally, the higher the score, the more chance someone might just sponsor you.

Naturally, District 1 is first. Marvel comes up with a nine, which is pretty good. Glimmer scores a nine too. Everyone in the room holds their breath except me, and Cato pulls a ten. Brutus leans back as if enjoying the show, and everyone else congratulates him. I don't exchange anything-instead, my fingernails are deep into the plush purple couch. I'm almost nervous about what my score it. Then I see my face, and they're flashing a ten on the screen.

A ten.

I don't know what I was expecting, but I don't feel bad, and I don't feel good. Cato awkwardly congratulates me. This just means more tension between us. Our sizes varying such differences and our scores being the same. I wonder whether this alliance is still going to form. Pulling my thoughts away, I focus my attention on the rest of the tribute scores. Breck scores an eight, and Marina scores a nine. Only a nine! I expected Marina to score at least the same as me, if not better. She must have screwed up bad with the Gamemakers.

Thresh scores a ten, and the little girl scores a seven. I don't know what she did, but it must have been impressive since she's so tiny. District 12 is up. Peeta comes with an eight, and I wonder whether he spent the whole time throwing huge metal weights around. Possibly.

Katniss is next. Everyone in the room suddenly hushes. This is taking longer than is usually does. Caesar checks and double checks the sheet he's reading from. Then he reads it. An eleven!

She beat me.

She beat Cato too. She beat everyone.

What could have she shown the Gamemakers? She didn't do anything impressive whatsoever in training. What could have she done to wipe up all off, again?

An awkward pause fills the room. Finally Alessia Reeky stands up, "Well, that's that! Twelve is going to be a lot to handle, you know that. But you can handle them!" and she beams at us so brilliantly and cluelessly, Cato and I both force a smile and nod.

Alessia squeals and hops out the room. She doesn't seem to know the difference between success and failure. Unfortunately, everyone else in the room does.

"She's right," Asher says gently, "Nothing can be done. But I'm just intrigued on how far they've come this year," she says more to herself than anyone else, "I mean, last year the pair looked like emaciated barbarians."

"Exactly!" Brutus snaps his fingers, "That mean you will need to work harder!" he slams the table, but I know it's just for the sport. What Enobaria is thinking is what I really want to know. Her eyebrows are knitted and she seems to be concentrating hard on something. I'm about to ask what's wrong when she excuses herself and follows Alessia's tracks. Brutus burly follows, and Asher and Sila do too. I'm surprised how non-encouraging my team can be.

Cato is still in the room, scrutinizing the TV, as if he's still seeing the eleven flashing under Katniss's picture. I can still see it too. It has burned an imprint into my mind.

"Good night," I say finally, standing to excuse myself. Cato is snapped out of his own little world, and probably just realizes that I'm the only other person in the room.

"Good-wait!" he calls just as I'm about to leave. "My token...my district token, you have it, right?"

The subject is so off-topic it takes a few moments for me to understand what he's talking about. Suddenly I understand.

"Your token?" I ask blankly, "Why would I have that?" And I leave the room, suppressing small giggles I haven't had for months.


	6. Chapter 6

**Cato—Chapter 6**

I'm awake long before dawn. I spend the next hour watching the sun rise above the candy Capitol, comparing it to those I had back in District 2. It looks the same, but feels different. I'm not exactly sure why I'm feeling dumpy, but after District 12 beat us again using their own skills, I can't imagine what Katniss could have possibly shown the Gamemakers.

I roll around and face the door. The more I think about it, the more upset I become. Is it like this every year? Or did I just land with some supernatural freak who impressed everyone over the top of their heads? What if I don't win the Games? What will everyone back home think? What are they thinking now? Me, being upstaged by an outlying district, District 12. Are they disappointed? Humiliated? Or indifferent?

More than anything I want someone to talk too. The mentors and Alessia Reeky are out of questions, and I don't want to mention it to the stylists either. It'll make me seem weak. I want to talk to someone from home. Who's still at home, and will stay there their whole lives.

This is about the time when I realize that this Games thing is more complicated than I thought. Every step matters. One false step is a dangerous tumble down the hill. Unless you're trying for mediocre, but since I'm a Career, that isn't possible. I must work hard to be the first and only on that hill, and no one can surpass me.

I'm somewhere between sleep and awake for the next hour. Too soon, Alessia Reeky starts pounding at my door and reading the whole day's schedule through the wood, even though I can barely make out a word. Eventually I bury myself under my pillow like a little boy, and Alessia eventually goes away.

More dark thoughts run through my head, and I drag myself into the shower, trying out the controls to I can see how long I can hold my breath without passing out. Tomorrow night is our televised interview. I can compose myself then. No need to rush now.

Still exhausted, I am the last to arrive at the table-it seems the stylists won't be showing up. Everyone is really quiet, even Alessia Reeky is studying her fingernails, today painted lime green with multicolored flowery stickers. Clove is slowly nibbling at a piece of bread, her eyes focused in another world I can't make out.

Finally Enobaria interferes the silence, "Interviews. Do you wish to be coached individually or together?" Momentarily Clove and I stare at her, unsure what to say.

"Why would we want to be coached separately?" I ask abruptly.

"In case one of you has something secret you don't want the other to know." Enobaria says as if it's the most obvious thing in the world.

"Why would we be hiding anything, isn't the other going to know at the interview anyways?" Clove questions.

"Possibly," Brutus shrugs. "You never know about what people do for interviews, but since you two are going to be allies I don't see why you would hide anything."

"You can coach us together." I say steadily. I look at Clove and she nods. "It's not like public interviews are our real charm, right?" she asks.

Enobaria flashes her eyes, "We want to change that. This is your last chance before you land in that arena. Last chance before the sponsors makes their choice."

Alessia joins in, "We will have to start right away! I've noticed both of you have presentation problems. Clove, you're ducking your head too much, and Cato, you're hunching your back." Awkwardly I sit straighter and ask myself why I'm sitting straight at the breakfast table.

Clove has raised her chin about half-an-inch, then asks, "When will we officially start?"

Ten minutes later we officially start. I have a tuxedo on, which supposedly is what men at the Capitol wear for formal events. Brutus clips a small bow on my neckline, and I swear I'm allergic to something on the thing. Whenever I bend my head down, I start a hacking line of coughs which leads into Alessia swooping on me yelling how coughing will be bad for my reputation. Great. I have the whole day with Enobaria, Brutus, and Alessia.

Clove has it a lot tougher. After a few minutes of sitting around with Brutus, Clove appears with a floor-length gown and six inch high heels, only on her feet because Enobaria and Alessia are supporting her from both sides. "Beautiful," I say, grinning. Clove glares at me.

We get started. First four hours is on presentation, then lunch. Then four more hours on content. Brutus first tries to fix my hunching problem, while Alessia and Enobaria, mostly Alessia, is teaching Clove her first lessons on how to walk six inches levitated into the air. Sometimes I get distracted and watch Clove stumble around on the other side of the room. After a while Brutus gets impatient and watches Clove trip around also. This seems to humiliate her. "Enobaria!" she whispers raspily, "Why don't you go help Cato with his sitting problems?" Apparently Enobaria finds teaching me how to sit like a gentleman is more fun than teaching Clove how to walk like an lady. I get the next hour listening to Enobaria teach me how to sit correctly. "Don't swing your shoulders like that!" she would always yell, "It makes you look like a barbarian!"

While Clove is learning that her gown should never be pulled above her ankle, Brutus starts teaching me about smiling. "Think vicious," he says. "Only smile at the moments when no one is." This confuses me, but Enobaria starts saying terrible things and I smile to them reluctantly. Fortunately, this appeases my mentors and I don't have to think much about it. Then we work on chin levels, eye contact, and nodding. "Look me in the eyes," Enobaria instructs, "Avoiding eye contacts makes you appear frightened." This is when I find how scary Enobaria teeth truly look from close up.

After I master eye contact, I work on sitting positions. Enobaria has gone to instruct Clove, since she finally can walk across the room in a straight enough line without tripping. And, she has to walk up stairs, making sure she doesn't pull her dress over her ankles. Brutus starts to explain the positions in which I can sit while Caesar interviews me.

This isn't working together. This is working separately in the same room.

I'm down with presentation after about three hours, which gives me an hour off. Since there's basically nothing I can do, I take this time to watch the mentors and Alessia teach Clove everything they've already taught me. After fixing her head that always has the tendency to duck, she has smiling problems. And when Brutus tells her to smile, it looks like she's pursing her lips. I know this is not her real smile, since the real one is much prettier. But no matter what Enobaria and Alessia Reeky does, she can't compose a real smile, if not frowning.

"Look at me." Alessia says. "I can smile all the time if I wanted to."

"But I don't want to!" Clove protests, "And I don't know how!"

At the end of the four hours of presentation, Clove still can't smile. Brutus has long since given up, and was entertaining himself by switching through TV channels top speed. Even though it's amusing at my part, I can't help but wonder how much effort it would take for the TV to break. When it's evident that Enobaria and Alessia as well has given up on Clove, we all head for lunch.

Surprisingly, Clove doesn't seem to be upset that her presentation session hadn't been such a success. This leads for me to wonder whether she was feigning the fact that she can't smile when told to.

Lunch is delicious. The stew is made with tender chunks of lamb and dried plums. Just the right taste with wild rice and orange juice. I finish almost all my stew when I notice Alessia is absent. "Where'd she go?" I ask Enobaria.

"Probably to her home. In the Capitol, you know," she answers.

It has never come to my thoughts that Alessia had a life except escorting tributes from District 2. Capitol citizens, in my opinion, didn't seem to do anything except decorate their bodies and wait for another haul of tributes to come for slaughter. What do they do other times? Is there school? Do they even have family? Do they celebrate festivals and event? Does Capitol food always tastes this good? Everywhere? Do they have separations between the wealthy and poor? It crosses my mind that I have to ask Asher whether she lives in the Capitol for her daily life between the Games.

When we all finish lunch and the Avoxes cleared the table away, we head back to the sitting room for content. Enobaria instruct us to sit on the plush purple couch, then she and Brutus sits at the other one facing us. Then they both stare at us in turn.

"What?" Clove finally asks, a few moments after I contemplate that content is some staring contest.

"We're thinking about what we're going to do with you." Brutus says, "How to present you. Are you going to be charming? Gush? Cocky? You've been outscored by District 12 in everything so far. You have to shine here."

Briefly I remember what Enobaria said to me the day before we had our private sessions with the Gamemakers. _"This is the time to show them everything."_

Everything wasn't enough. Now is our last chance before we are placed into the arena. Before the sponsors make their decisions. This is the last straw, and our impression in the interviews may be the difference between life and death.

"Cato," Enobaria says, "I think you should have something near brutal and cocky. Clove...I'm not sure what to do with you."

Clove shrugs, "I can figure it out."

Enobaria raises an eyebrow, "You can, can you? Then I guess we're finished here." Clove gives an questioning look and Enobaria smiles. "Some districts spend hours asking sample questions. District 2 doesn't find that reasonable, we want your answers with Caesar to be original and the first you've ever answered."

Brutus leans back and crosses his legs, basically what I was lectured not to do for the interview. "They say all you've got to do is remember-the audience loves you the way you are." For some reason this makes Clove smile. For real.

After ten minutes, I'm left in the room with Clove again. Enobaria's gone to take a nap, and who knows where the stylists and Alessia Reeky and Brutus are. Again, with the absence of the other Careers, the conversation between Clove and I is customarily quiet. Quiet reminds me of bugs.

"You have it." I say again.

Clove doesn't take her eye off the spot on the table where they're fixated. "Have what?"

"My token. I know you do," I say

"Since when could you mind read?"

"So you do." I reply with relish. "Are you planning to ever give it back?"

"I'm not sure what I'm going to do with it yet," she says, "There still a little more time."

I give a mischievous smile. "Clove Belfur. What did you think when you arrived at the Capitol."

"What did I think? That the place was too far ahead of all the districts." I laugh. Then she asks, "What do you think about the mentors letting us hook the interviews?"

"I absolutely love it. I can practice without them slobbering over the slightest thing." And we ask each other questions, some about home life, what we think of the games, but nothing too personal or too close to the tough topics. I'm relieved of this, I don't know what I'll say if Clove asked a too personal question. For some reason, more than anything, I wish we can train together at the Training Center.

Around six an Avox comes to us with a note from Enobaria, saying that dinner will not be eaten at the dinner table today. Instead, we get to order our own foods. Awkwardly, Clove says bye and heads off to her room. I turn off the TV and head to my room too.

I get the blessing of having a night of dreamless sleeps. In the morning, my prep team is hovering above me, pulling me out of bed. This whole day is with Asher. The evening will be the public interviews.

The prep team works on my skin, pulling stray bits of hair out and somehow making it glow like satin. Then they put makeup on; I'm not sure exactly what they did, since I got bored and fell asleep. When I awake, they're rubbing my nails with something so it shines like glass. Afterwards my prep team works on my hair, using gel and golden glitter so my hair shines from over fifty feet away.

Around noon, Asher walks in with a tux very similar to the one I had one yesterday. Black pants, black dress shoes with a one inch heel, and a silver and black top. There's also a pale gray tie, which, apparently Asher says, somehow brings out the blue in my eyes. I look myself around, Asher and the prep team does too. They're staring transfixed at me.

"Good," Asher says softly, "Very nice." It is rather nice, but not the kind to stick in the sponsors head. But then again, girls usually stick in the sponsors head better than the boys, because of how flamboyant they can dress. Unless a boy says something very strong that moves the whole audience.

Asher dismisses the prep team and motions me towards the couch. We sit down, and I feel exactly the way I was when I first came into the Capitol.

"You have everything figured out?" she asks.

"Pretty much." I answer. "There isn't too much to know, you do the best at the actual event."

"Hopefully," Asher answers. I notice that she's looking really sad and angry today. Her eyes keep flitting towards the door, and I have a feeling she wants to run as soon as possible.

"You can leave, you know." I say hesitantly.

Asher looks me with surprise. "Oh, no. It's just some things I find out can be harmful. It's not anything." That's when I realize my prep team has been strangely quiet too. "But I think I shall leave," she continues with a shrewd expression, "Best not disturb your thoughts." She probably knows perfectly well she's not disturbing my thoughts.

Later I'm in the sitting room again, alone. Naturally, Clove is having much more prepping time than I did. What I do have is my prep team bobbing their heads in every now and then to make sure I don't ruin my looks. But to my dismay, instead of thinking or stressing out about the interviews, I'm still locked on the fact that Asher had so very wanted to get out of the building. Maybe she committed a crime. It seems very unlikely for Asher, but I guess the world is full of odd people. Maybe she discovered some big secret. Or maybe she is just acting weird.

And hour before the interview I'm hustled out of the sitting room and back to the hands of the my prep team. They refresh my makeup, add more glitter, and add finishing touches.

My team meets with the rest of the District 2 team at the elevator. Despite Sila's ominous looks (maybe it's just the makeup) Clove looks radiant in a strapless, frilly, orange dress with ribbon trim. The material goes a little under her knees, where a frilly lace is placed. A pretty orange sash of the same color tied in a bow. She's wearing about four inch orange pumps, her toenails and fingernails painted with tasteful designs. Her skin is shimmering with some sort of gold dust, and her hair is put in an elegant twist atop her head.

So much about an angle for her, all she needs to do is show up.

The interviews take place on a stage built in front of the Training Center. We are to sit in a big arc and listen to the interviews of ones before us. Lucky for me, I only have to listen to Glimmer, Marvel, and Clove.

As I wait for the rest of the tributes to take their place, I take in my audience. It's sunset, and the City Circle is engulfed in a rosy orange color. About the same shade as Clove's dress. An elevated seating unit has been placed for the most prestigious citizens, and the stylists are seated up front so the cameras can catch their faces when an comment to the tribute's contour is made. A large balcony to the right is claimed by the Gamemakers. Almost every other balcony is filled with the Television crew. The whole place is packed, standing room only. I know at home and across all of Panem, every television set is turned on. Every worker, hobo, babies are tuned in and currently staring at the screen. There will be no blackouts tonight.

All the tributes are seated. Caesar Flickerman, the host of the interviews for as long as I can remember, hops onto the stage. He's a little scary because his appearance has been virtually unchanged the whole time. Same face under a thick coating of pure white makeup. Same Capitol hairstyle he dyes a different color every year. Same ceremonial suit, midnight blue dotted with thousands of tiny electric bulbs that twinkle like stars.

This year Caesar's color is powder blue. Hair, eyelids, lips, shoes, pants, all the same hue. I'm momentarily engulfed in thoughts about how Capitol clothes is produced. Caesar looks a little freaky, but not as much as last year when his color was crimson and seemed to be bleeding. He warms the crowd up by telling a few jokes, then gets down with business.

Glimmer, who had been sweating and muttering under her breath the past five minutes, changes person completely on stage. Looking provocative in a see-through golden gown, she's a thousand times more attractive on stage. Flowing blond hair, emerald green eyes, body tall and lush...she's sexy all the way.

"Glimmer, are you ready for the Games?" Caesar asks.

"Absolutely, Caesar." Glimmer replies confidently. "I am absolutely ready for the Games."

At one point in her interview, Caesar compliments her outfit. Glimmer grins and faces the audience with a flirty look on her face, batting her eyelashes. The audience goes wild. Glimmer sure knows how to work the crowd.

When three minutes are up and the buzzer sounds, Marvel takes the stage. I think he's trying to go for humorous, but some of his jokes are so lame they're just funny nevertheless. Too soon, his interview is over and Clove takes the stage.

This is when I initially start to stress out. I hate myself for doing it, but I am. Immediately I see what Clove is playing at. She's smiling sweetly, like she did at the train station, and looks delighted to be on stage. A bit of sarcasm with sweetness makes her interview interesting. She has the whole thing planned out. I'm sweating like mad when Clove steps down the stage and has the strangest smile on. Still sweating, I put on a winning smile and stagger onto stage.

I shake Caesar's hand, and take a seat the way Brutus taught me. Caesar flashes me a grin and gets rolling. "So, Cato. Do you miss anyone back at District Two?"

Do I miss anyone? Yes, I miss everyone. But that's not the kind of thing I should say through my angle. I shrug. "Yeah, I guess so. But you know, I will be seeing them all again."

Caesar flashes another grin, this time creeping me out. I'm sure not to show it. "Ah, we've got a winner here." He pauses. "Anything in the Capitol impress you yet?"

I think. "Not really. I mean, the Training Center is amazing, I wish we have that at home." It crosses my mind that the other districts aren't supposed to know that District 1, 2, and 4 have their own training center. Suddenly I'm scared that I gave something away and they're going to arrest me or something. Inwardly I shake myself. Pay attention!

"Oh yes," Caesar says, and I'm pulled back to the surface, "You enjoy training, don't you?"

"It's my whole life."

The audience is deadly silent. I know I didn't say something wrong.

Caesar continues in a quiet mood, "You volunteered at the reaping. Did you know Clove's brother before the reaping?"

It takes a moment for me to remember that Cleve is Clove's brother. "I didn't know him before." I say, which is the honest truth, "I volunteered because I felt confident this Games is going to be mine."

"Felt? So you don't feel it anymore?"

Inside, I'm squirming because I know I said something wrong. Outside, I smile. "This is Games is mine."

Caesar gives a chuckle, "Anything else?"

"It's an honor representing my district," I say.

Caesar gives me a winning smile. "Cato, are you ready for the Games?"

"I'm prepared, vicious, ready to go." I give Caesar a knowing stare, and ignore the oohs and ahs coming from the audience.

The buzzer goes off. I'm relieved, and the audience starts applauding. "Best of luck, Cato Ludwig, tribute of District Two!" Caesar Flickerman shouts above the noise of the applause.

The applause goes on until the female from District three, the one that fell off the gauntlets, joins Caesar for her interview. I catch Clove's eye, and she gives me a slight smile.

Every interview is shorter than the last. I mentally try to see which tributes I can actually remember. The boy from eight has a get-go time with the audience. The little girl from eleven claims that she's really hard to catch. I wonder what that means. Katniss is up. She seems to be completely overcome by stage fright, and timidly takes a seat next to Caesar.

Her interview, overall, was not that memorable. There is this really silly part where she's spinning in her jeweled dress, the stage lights flickering off the precious gems making an illusion that she seems to be on fire. In the end she talks about her sister, and I almost wish I had a sister.

_Stop_. I tell myself sternly. It can't be true-but the Games is softening me up. _I can't._ I think. _I have to win this thing. I can be soft later_.

The buzzer sounds, and Peeta takes the stage. I'm feeling relieved that no one really over blew us that much in the interviews. I couldn't be more wrong.

Peeta has some sort of self-deprecating humor, much better than Marvel because, as much as I dislike it, his approach is more likable and his jokes actually make sense. He and Caesar has this whole sniffing run I really can't put together, and I'm pretty much dazed until Caesar asks Peeta whether he has a girlfriend.

He hesitates, and gives an unconvincing shakes of his head.

"Handsome lad like you." Caesar says. "There must be a special girl." Handsome? Having a girlfriend? Is that a good thing for the Games?

Peeta heaves a sigh, his eyes fixated at an unseen point on the marble floor, "Well, there's this one girl. I've had a crush on her since before I can remember. But I'm pretty sure she didn't know I was alive until the reaping."

Sounds of sympathy come from the crowd. I try hard not to barf. Looks from Clove and Marvel tell me they're thinking similar thoughts, but Glimmer looks like she's about to burst out crying.

"She have another fellow?" asks Caesar. I wonder what kind of girl Peeta has a crush on. Somehow I know it's not the Glimmer type.

"I don't know." Peeta answers. "But a lot of boys like her."

Caesar flashes his freakish grin, "So, here's what you do. You win, you go home. She can't turn you down, eh?" Caesar asks encouragingly.

For some reason this just makes Peeta look more crushed. "I don't think it's going to work out. Winning...won't help in my case."

"Why ever not?" Caesar asks, just as mystified as I am.

"Because..." Peeta blushes beet red, "because...she came here with me."

I know I am just as confused as anyone else for the moment. Then the cameras all turn onto Katniss, who is sitting at the opposite side of the arc.

He means Katniss! He's had a crush on Katniss forever!

"Oh, that's a piece of bad luck." Caesar says, and I'm agreeing when I realize I shouldn't be. Glancing at Clove and Marvel, I know that this has been a big hit on them too.

The remaining piece of Peeta's interview is poisoning. The audience roars for him, and I know, at that moment, that he has placed both himself and Katniss ahead the ranks of who is most memorable.

Methodically I stand for the anthem. After this, all the tributes automatically file back to the Training Center lobby and onto the elevators. I make sure I'm not on one with Peeta or Katniss, because I'm afraid I just might beat them up on the way up to our floor.

Clove and the rest of the team are already in the sitting room when I arrive. They look half has glum as they usually do, which basically means they look half-dead. Asher is looking peculiarly perky; she's always glancing at the door every so often. It's as if she expects some guards to charge in at her. Sila is non-expressive like she usually is, and Brutus and Enobaria are mumbling under their breaths to each other, and I catch, "idiots," and "done." Whatever they are talking about, I'm not in the mood to find out.

Later I find out that we're waiting for the recaps to show. When they do, after watching Peeta's confession, Clove's seems very forgettable and mine, even more. After Peeta, everyone I noted during their interview seemed hollow and unsupported. Especially Katniss. She's just that little girl from District 12 in the pretty dress created in the hands of her stylists. Spinning and giggling. Much worse than Glimmer.

I hate to say it, but honestly Peeta is absolutely charming. I don't know if he was acting, but if he was, he gets the prize for being the best actor I've ever met. Every word he says seems so true…so full of feeling…it's just not the Hunger Games anymore.

Once the anthem finishes and the screen goes dark, the whole room hushes. Tomorrow, Clove and I will be preparing for the arena. At dawn. The actual Games start at ten sharp, since apparently, according to Alessia, Capitol residents don't get out of bed until noon unless there's a national emergency, which includes the start of the Games. How do they survive that? At home, I got up at dawn every day to go to school.

There is a different arena every year. Each is specifically built, massively huge, and mechanically tracked by trackers on practically everything. This is the Seventy-fourth Hunger Games, so there's no telling how far we will have to travel to get to the arena.

Our mentors and escort won't be going with us. As soon as they leave here, hopefully they're be madly signing up sponsors and working out some strategy on how and when and whether they should send gifts to us. It's strange thinking how Brutus, Enobaria, and Alessia are going to work together, but they'll have to compromise. Hopefully. It might be worth our lives.

Asher and Sila will travel with us until to very last minute, to the very spot where we will be launched into the arena. Still, final goodbyes are said here, and it's not like I'll get to talk to Sila tomorrow. I say my goodbyes now.

Alessia is very quiet, but seems to be holding back tears. She hugs both of us, harder than I thought she could, and kisses each of our cheeks. Then she hops out of our ways and out the door, and I can see her wipe a tear as she reaches the hallway.

Enobaria is looking us over. Brutus has either fallen asleep, or is pretending to have fallen asleep. Whatever it is, he's drooling.

"Typical Games," Enobaria says. I don't question what a "typical game" is. "Just try to take out District 12, okay? They had such a head start. Finish them off quick." A typical game is pretty much the Career alliance. Or at least what's left of the Careers after the bloodbath at Cornucopia The Cornucopia is a giant golden horn shaped like a cone with a curved tail, a mouth at least twenty feet high spilling supplies and weapons and things that will support the life of the tributes in the arena. The Career objective is to conquer all the supplies after the initial massacre, and move on from there. Rarely does this not work, unless another group of experienced tributes have their own alliance and is attempting to claim the Cornucopia too. But this hasn't happened for years. And apart from District 12 and maybe 11, I'm pretty sure conquering the Cornucopia won't be that difficult.

"Don't be stupid," Brutus says as he wakes up. Oddly, he seems to be speaking directly to me, and not Clove. I nod, and Clove does to, mute. What can we say? I give a final nod of acknowledgement first to Enobaria, then Brutus, and we separate.

After a few words with a full-alert Asher, I head off back to my room. I shower, careful with the buttons I push, and wash off all of my prep team's efforts. Oh. I forgot to say goodbye to them, with all of their perkiness and nonsense. I'll have to tell Asher to pass the word to them, even though I _will _be coming back and seeing them again.

I sleep in my clothes, just to save time. I know that I will need all the sleep I can get, so I'm strong and alert in the morning of the Games. But I know I can't. With all these flaws of action, District 12 being so stunning, I can't help but think of what my family and friends back home are saying. They know I'm coming back, but now do they believe it? I'm sure I do. Hopefully. Now I question it, I realize I'm not as sure about winning this thing as before the Games and before I volunteered. That's no good. I remember what Vetky said when I decided that I would volunteer when I'm eighteen—"Trust in yourself and you can get it done." What wrong with me? Why do I not believe what I ultimately thought a week ago? My mind drifts to all the promises I made to everyone home, and all the reassurance I gave those who saw me the day of the reaping.

I think of Royal. Everything we've done together in the past, ever since we were in the same training level. Certainly he should volunteer next year, when he's eighteen himself. When not training, we'd spend time around the lake scouting for unusual stones. Immature to most that know.

That's what brings me to the subject of bugs and my district token. Clove. Is she ever planning to give it back? The Games is tomorrow. There isn't unlimited time.

I haul myself off the bed and out the door again. There's something about the hall today that creeps me. It might be because all the goodbyes I'd just said, but something...something seemed different. Nevermind, I tell myself. Just go to the sitting room.

My eyes have to adjust as I walk in. The air is gloomy, and I hear a sharp creak. Is this place haunted at night? I've heard of stories about ghosts, but never quite believed them. Are they true? Only true at the Capitol? I don't want to think about it. The room is empty. I check the dining room, and every crack and corner.

Nope. It doesn't seem Clove is planning to give it back. What am I thinking of? I should be concentrating on the Games, not some stupid district token.

As I walk back to my room, I see it in the sitting room. My district token.

Right on the couch, a place I could swear was empty a few minutes ago.


End file.
